The Case of the Honourable Men
by Stutley Constable
Summary: SH/PotC/Treasure Island crossover. There is something afoot in Black Hill Cove that needs looking into. The great grandson of the wealthiest treasure hunter in English history must call in Sherlock Holmes to put things right.
1. Chapter 1

**Legal Note: **I do not own any of the characters associated with Sherlock Holmes, Pirates of the Caribbean or Treasure Island. I have no legal right to use them or any proprietary words originating from those stories. This story was not done for profit, just fun.

**Summary:** There is something afoot in Black Hill Cove that needs looking into. The great grandson of the wealthiest treasure hunter in English history must call in Sherlock Holmes to put things right.

**A.N.** There are a number of people I must thank for helping me with this story. All of them are crew members of the mighty Black Pearl Forum where we sail the seas of imagination looting and plundering our weaselly black guts out. In no particular order I thank Sankage, Belphegor and thebrokenbiscuitcompany for helping me with details outside of my experience. I wish to thank Pirate-on-Fleet-Street for encouraging me to write this. I must thank Nytd not only for her encouragement but also for a loan, the nature of which I can not divulge here without damaging the plot. I owe thanks also to Barbossa's Monkey for challenging me to write this story many, many months ago.

More than anyone else I must thank my beta for translating my American English into British English and giving me some solid and well informed opinions and advice along the way. Thank you damsel-in-stress. Ye be a credit to the crew.

**The Case of the Honourable Men**

**Chapter I**

**St. James Church**

There are many cases I have recorded in my notes and stored in my old, battered tin dispatch box that likely will never see the light of day. The public is not ready for accounts of such cases as the Giant Rat of Sumatra or The Adventure of the Sanguinary Count. There are others. They all rest near the bottom of the box. The notes are complete and the text edited. I think it is best if those several accounts never go to print. They are best locked away and forgotten. I have, on pain of death, sworn to keep silent the events I witnessed during this case. I write this account only in an attempt to exorcize my mind for I find that I can not sleep. I have not been able to sleep well for many nights. For the first time I have been really tempted to indulge in one of those opiates I so often prescribed to my more restless patients. I think I can now understand the craving that my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had felt so many times. A craving for oblivion. A craving for something to occupy my thoughts and draw them away from memory. From what might have been. What nearly was.

Often I have used the word "singular" to describe an object, an event or a case which Sherlock Holmes and I endeavoured to resolve. It is a word, I think, that is perhaps over used these days. A sort of fad. In this particular instance, however, I believe that it is the only word to use. No case I have been involved with has had the potential for such broad and sweeping catastrophe as the events surrounding what appeared to be a simple burglary. A pilfering of objects with no intrinsic value. Yet possession of those objects cost many men their lives. A singular case, indeed.

It was on the 14th of June, 1896 that we had our first brush with the case. It was a fine Sunday morning and Holmes and I had just settled down to one of Mrs. Hudson's excellent breakfasts when I noted Holmes go still.

"What is it, Holmes?" I asked not worried but curious.

"We are about to have a visitor, Watson," said he with that air I knew so well. I did not question him but I suppose my expression must have changed for he explained, "When I hear a hard driven four wheeler suddenly stop in our street, then the opening of its door but not the closing followed by the rushing steps of a large man crossing the cobbles below our window and those steps cease to rush before our door, I can safely conclude that a visitor is imminent."

As his words ended there came the sound of feet on the stairs and a rapping on our door. At a word from Holmes, Mrs. Hudson poked her head in.

"A constable wishes urgently to see you, Mr. Holmes."

"Of course," Holmes did not quite smile. "Show him in, Mrs. Hudson. By all means."

I glanced with some regret at my plate but I knew that duty must come first.

"Mr. Holmes?" the constable asked as he crossed our threshold slightly out of breath. "Inspector Morgan asks that you and Dr. Watson come with me as soon as may be, sir."

"Morgan?" Holmes blinked in consternation. "Inspector Morgan asks for me? And for the Doctor?"

"He does, sir," said the constable most earnestly. "He instructed me to say 'Please.' if it would help to sway you, sir."

"Morgan says 'Please.', Watson," Holmes mused. I could see him turning things over in his mind. It was the same sort of look he would get when presented with conflicting data and he was attempting to make sense of the facts.

"I have a four wheeler downstairs, sir." The constable's agitation was acute. I did not know this Morgan but I felt sure that the young constable was trapped between the devil and the deep. He could not force Holmes to go with him, yet he could expect nothing good if he returned to this Inspector Morgan without him.

"Watson!" barked Holmes as he rose suddenly and with great energy from his chair already clasping at the sash of his dressing gown. "Inspector Morgan says, 'Please.' We shall be with you shortly, Constable."

Long years of association with Holmes had taught me to be ready in moments and I found myself smiling when I stepped back into our living room just ahead of my friend. We donned our hats and with my medical bag in hand I descended the stairs behind Holmes to emerge onto the already warm street. We crossed to the four wheeler and climbed inside. Our escort took the seat next to the driver and began exhorting the other cabs and carriages to make way at the top of his lungs. I had a flash of memory of a sergeant of the 66th Foot who could be heard above the crackling of rifle fire and the boom of artillery.

"Holmes," I said turning to my friend. "Who is this Morgan? You have never mentioned him and I do not recall having met him."

"Inspector Phineas Morgan," Holmes gave a flicker of a smile and the look in his eyes told me there was a little history between them. "He is the best of the old guard in the Metropolitan Force. Perhaps the last of them, also. I feel certain that he will retire an inspector though he is older even than the chief inspector. He is notable for two things and remarkable for one, Watson. Notable because he has never asked anyone for help and he once told Sir Charles Warren that he was a damned fool for erasing the writing on the wall during the Ripper Murders. He is remarkable for his ability to detect a lie. I have never known the like in any man. Morgan simply knows when he is being lied to. His ability exceeds even my own in that field."

"Sir Charles Warren?" I gasped.

"Indeed, Watson," Holmes nodded with some relish. "I believe Morgan came very close to ending his career then and there. Certainly his rise in the Force ended at that point. I wonder what it is that has caused him to break from his long standing reticence."

I had met Sir Charles Warren when Holmes had been consulted on the Whitechapel murders. Sir Charles had been a distinguished soldier and a more than competent chief commissioner. Holmes had himself remarked, though, that the incident of erasing the writing at the apparent crime scene during such a case was a very serious error. It had lead to a great deal of speculation and confusion. Holmes had felt that all of this could have been avoided had a photograph and measurements been taken before the graffiti had been expunged.

I had little time to ruminate on this matter, however. We had clopped along at a good pace and now turned down Piccadilly toward the old St. James Church. There were a few Bobbies already in sight but I discerned no crime scene even as we rounded the turn onto Church Place. Holmes, for his part, was scanning the area in general, taking in the sights and sounds with those keenly honed senses of his.

"I think I understand Morgan's urgency in seeking our help, Watson," Holmes said as the cab came to a stop near the church.

"Oh?" I said as the constable hopped down and opened our door.

"Mass is in session."

Holmes stepped down from the cab onto the sidewalk. I joined him taking a quick look around. Indeed there were many private carriages with a few hansom cabs among them. It seemed obvious to me now that the Inspector would want to move the investigation along as rapidly as possible with the impending departure of the congregation. The constable led us down a narrow, grassy walk between the church and one of its out buildings. There we found a scaffold erected by a contractor in order to make some repair to the brickwork. At the base of this lay a man in dark clothing surrounded by a trio of uniformed constables and a broad bear of a man who was writing in a small notebook. He was darkly bearded with a lined and scarred face, dark bushy brows and piercing, ice blue eyes. I estimated his age at over sixty. If I had met him in other circumstances I might have taken him for a retired bare knuckles fighter. The man looked up as we neared the corpse.

"I thank you for coming, Mr. Holmes," he said extending a meaty hand to my friend. "Dr. Watson, thank you. I am Inspector Morgan."

I noted as I took his hand that two fingers had been broken at some point and had not healed properly. This did nothing to reduce the strength that was clearly evident in his grip. He did not crush my hand but I am certain he could have done so. There was plenty of brute muscle to this man. His eyes spoke of a fierce countenance and keen intelligence.

"Inspector," Holmes began. "I take it that you believe this man was murdered. I also take it that you wish to collect as much evidence as you are able before the good people of the parish exit the building."

"Just so, Mr. Holmes," Morgan turned back to the corpse. "My normal routine is very time consuming. I know from your work with Lestrade and Gregson that you can see things in an instant that might take me hours to put together."

Holmes did actually smile then, quite graciously.

"What can you tell me of this, Inspector?" he asked indicating the body on the ground.

"He was found this morning by the grounds keeper." Morgan consulted his notebook. "A man named Huff. It was at a quarter to seven. Mr. Huff reported the body to Father Carpenter and we were notified. Father Carpenter said that he would not mention this to the congregation and that he would attempt to stretch things out this morning. We kept out of sight while the congregation arrived. I think that they are unaware of us for now."

Holmes had dropped to his knees next to the body and was examining it without disturbing it. I set my bag down and squatted next to Holmes. The man was lying mostly on his back, twisted at the waist with his legs slightly bent and his arms lying out to either side. I took him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. In life he had had a swarthy complexion. His hair was very short and brown. His chin showed a days growth and his clothing was all dark. His jacket, of a common cut, was buttoned all of the way to his throat with the collar turned up as if to guard against cold. About the man's neck was wound a length of coarse hemp rope at least an inch thick. I observed a wound in his upper right arm, the sleeve soaked completely through down to his elbow. I also noted blood soaking his trouser legs at the backs of his knees. The material there had been sliced through. With my forceps I pushed the cloth of the sleeve open and saw a wound approximately an inch long on the biceps.

"Have you already searched him, Inspector?" Holmes asked picking up the man's hat from where it lay in the grass.

"I examined his pockets," the Inspector told him. "There was nothing in them. Not so much as a scrap of paper or a farthing. You observe there are no rings or any other jewellery. It's possible this is only a robbery."

"But?" Holmes prompted the Inspector. He was still examining the hat. Sniffing it, he ran his finger along the inside and examined the tip with narrowed eyes.

"It feels wrong for that, Mr. Holmes," the Inspector said. "Wrong place. Wrong sort of feel to the wounds. There is more to it than robbery. Just look at the evidence, sir. The rope is cut from that length there, tied to the scaffold. I'm certain of that. He's been stabbed in the arm and it looks like the backs of his knees have been cut. I didn't like to disturb the body until you had a chance to look him over so I don't know how deep any of the wounds are. From the blood on the ground I'd say he was on his feet and moving around a bit, possibly fighting with his assailant, when the wounds were inflicted. I haven't found much sign of his attacker."

"What do you make of it, Watson?" Holmes asked me setting the hat aside. He lifted the dead man's hand and examined it.

"Given the lividity, he's been dead for no less than three hours." I had been examining the condition of the body and was trying to judge how much blood loss there had been. "I do not think that he bled to death. The ligature marks around his throat would indicate he was strangled."

"That's a strange cord to use as a garotte, Doctor," observed Morgan. "Too thick."

"Indeed, Inspector." Holmes lifted the cut end of the rope. "A strange knot for such an attack. I observe that you and your men have not walked around very much."

"Course not," Morgan said scornfully.

Holmes turned a slight smile on the inspector. "Of course not. I meant no offence, Inspector. You noted that the end of this rope was cut and that it came from the length now tied to the scaffold there. Did you also note how clean the cut was?"

The Inspector took the proffered end from Holmes. He snorted and looked to the remaining length.

"Rope was under tension," Morgan said stepping carefully over to the corner of the scaffold. "This piece is wrong."

"Wrong?" I asked.

"The Inspector has hit upon it," Holmes affirmed. "Look up, Watson. What do you see?"

"The scaffold, bricks and a few tools, a tackle block," I said not quite comprehending.

"Of course," growled Morgan. "No rope in the tackle."

"Why would the attacker drag the rope from the tackle?" I wondered aloud.

"Why indeed?" Holmes picked up the bitter end of the rope to display the knot. "In fact, Watson, he would not have been able to. Also, examine the coil of rope 'round the man's neck. Not a noose but certainly a common enough knot for workmen to haul items such as poles from the ground to a platform."

I looked and saw what my friend was talking about. The rope was looped twice around the victim's throat in such a way that it would bind against itself when tension was put on it. Holmes was crawling along the ground near the foot of the scaffold examining the turf carefully.

"I should say that our killer stood approximately where you are, Inspector." Holmes stood and looked the older man in the eye. "Though I observe that you were careful to avoid treading in his steps."

"Mr. Holmes," Morgan growled softly. "I have been at this game a long time. I am not some young pup sniffing around to get my name in the papers. And you will remember, sir, that you are a guest here."

Holmes gave the briefest of nods, said nothing and then turned to scale the scaffold. We watched as he carefully examined the lower platform and then climbed to the top. He again examined the boards and the tools pausing now and again to take a closer look at this item or that. His hand slipped into his pocket and I noted that it was moving with some agitation. Holmes crouched down and went to all fours, looking over the side.

"Inspector," Holmes said. "Would you just throw that rope up to me?"

As the inspector bent to gather in the rope I saw Holmes lift his hand and shove something into his pocket. The Inspector rose again and cast the loose end of the rope up to Holmes who stood and fitted it through the tackle block feeding it down until there was no slack left between the block and the knot where it was tied to the scaffold.

"Yes," he said. "It's easier to see from here. Look, just there near his toes, Inspector. See how the grass has been disturbed? I think our victim was held just high enough that he was unable to support himself flat footed."

"I see," Morgan said. "Now that I look a bit closer, in addition to the blood there are scuff marks and no small amount of dirt in the stitching and creases of the man's shoes. Very good, Mr. Holmes. Very good."

Holmes rejoined us on the ground and extended his cane until it just touched the hanging rope's end. He smiled.

"Our assailant stood just here," Holmes said. "You see the impressions of his boots? A sword cane would certainly have the length and with the tension on the rope a sharp blade could cut it in a single stroke."

"Yes, Holmes," I said. "But why would he stab this man and then cut the backs of the knees?"

"He wanted information, Watson, or something else."

"Tortured him?" Morgan mused. "Right here?"

"A pretty little mystery for you, Inspector," Holmes said.

I had several questions milling around in my mind but I could tell that Holmes was intentionally keeping something to himself. It was perhaps pique at the Inspector's earlier statement. I had known Holmes to withhold information from Lestrade and Gregson on occasion and saw no reason why he would not do so with Morgan. Morgan asked a few more questions but Holmes refused to speculate. He preferred to stand by his adage that theorising without facts causes the facts to be twisted to fit the theory instead of the theory twisting to fit the facts. We bade good luck to the inspector and made for our cab.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

**Homeward**

As we walked away I whispered to my old friend, "What did you find?"

"Ah," Holmes said warmly. "I must commend you on the improvement of your observational skills, Watson. I am unsure what will be revealed."

It was necessary for him to cease speaking just then as we had come to the corner of the church where a constable was stationed. We passed the man with a friendly nod and proceeded to our waiting cab. The poor horse was flagging after its exertions of the morning and Holmes kindly told the driver to be easy with the animal as we were in no great hurry. Holmes always seemed to have an eye out for the lesser creatures of our world.

Once in the four wheeler Holmes drew from his pocket a rough disc of brown clay partially wrapped in wax paper. He carefully removed the paper and turned it so that one surface was revealed to the light coming in through the open window. Upon that surface was a good deal of gritty, grey powder but in the middle there was what looked like a tiny hand print not large enough to span the palm of my own hand. I looked questioningly at Holmes.

"I observed several such prints upon the scaffold, Watson," he said taking out his magnifying lens to examine the print more carefully. "I had thought at first they might be the result of water being dripped into the dust but they were too uniform. I also noted that there were two distinct patterns and those were split between left and right. This, by far, was the clearest as it had been made in a mere coating of the mason's mortar dust. Upon seeing it I put my hand in my pocket and kneaded the clay. Not easy to unwrap the wax paper with only my fingers but I managed. As you witnessed, I distracted Morgan by asking him to toss the rope up to me. It was child's play to slip this into my pocket and lay the wrapping back over it."

"But the clay, Holmes. How did you know you would need it?" I asked.

"I did not," he said with a little satisfaction. "It is an oil clay commonly used by sculptors when they are doing a study. It never hardens and even in winter it is pliable. I keep this and several other things in my pockets, as you well know, in case I should need them. This clay is excellent for taking impressions of keys or even spent bullets."

"Spent bullets?"

"The rifling, Watson. Flatten out the clay and roll the bullet along it and you have a clear impression of the marks left by the lands and grooves of a barrel." He waved it away. "I think our assailant of last evening, or rather early this morning, had a pet with him."

"Yes," I agreed. "A monkey of some sort."

"Indeed." He nodded. "It is unfortunate that it is Sunday, Watson. I would very much like to visit a friend of mine in the zoology department at the university. I doubt Parsons would be able to tell me specifically what breed we have here but he might be able to narrow it down to a workable list of possibilities."

"It's a small species," I observed. "Smaller than the ones I remember from India. Or it could be a juvenile."

"There are too many possibilities regarding this print at the moment to speculate, Watson," Holmes said carefully re-wrapping the clay and placing it back in his pocket.

"What did you learn from the hat, Holmes?" I asked then. I was strangely eager to hear more of the clues to the man's death. I wanted very much to know why he had been tortured, if he had been.

"The hat?" Holmes's features shone with satisfaction. "I once told you that you can tell a lot about a man from the hat he wears, didn't I?"

"Mr. Henry Baker." I smiled at the mutual memory.

"Well, Watson," said he. "That was not the victim's hat."

"The assailant's then?"

"No," Holmes demurred. "Our victim had worn the hat but it was not originally his. I misspoke. I observed that the sweat band had a slick and oily feel to it. Our victim did not use a hair tonic or oil yet the band showed that the hat had been worn by some one who did use such cosmetics. The band was fairly saturated with the stuff. Also, I found a number of light hairs inside the hat. One or two had been cut but most were medium length and very fine. A sign that the original possessor of the hat was likely going bald. The hat itself was of common quality. Serviceable but not expensive and of foreign manufacture. The maker's stamp inside was in Spanish or perhaps Portuguese."

"Yet you say that our victim had worn the hat," I pressed.

"You did not notice the slick mark upon his forehead then?"

"I did not."

"It was there," Holmes assured me.

"You said the knot around his throat was a common one used by workmen to lift poles or other things of the sort. What of the knot about the upright of the scaffold?" I asked.

"A kind of sailor's knot, though not exclusively used by them," Holmes said leaning back in his seat. "It is one that is employed when it is necessary to lash something down quickly."

"So the murderer hoisted our man up onto his toes and then tied off the other end before he could wriggle free," I said.

"Very likely, Watson," Holmes agreed. "Our victim was an active man in life. From the scars on his knuckles and the calluses mostly on his right hand I surmise that he was once a soldier but not for some time now. He has been otherwise employed in the last year or so but had kept in training. I doubt that he could so easily have been overcome had his attacker not distracted him with the wound to the arm."

"Yes. It was a straight shot with the blade oriented to cut between the fibres of the biceps," I observed. "I didn't get a close enough look at it to know just how deep it was but there was not enough blood to indicate the puncturing of a main blood vessel. It would have been painful but given moderate treatment and clean bandages it would not have been fatal."

"And what does that tell you, Doctor?" Holmes asked evidently pleased with my analysis.

"Well," I said pausing to consider the ramifications of the evidence. "As you said, the wound was meant to distract the man. It must have been inflicted quickly or the attack would likely not have been so precise. The attacker then slipped the rope 'round the victim's neck and hoisted him up, presumably to question him."

"Very good, Watson!" Holmes fairly beamed at me. "But what does the attack tell us about the attacker?"

I pondered a moment before answering. I tried to think like my friend and see what would account for the information we had gleaned thus far.

"It tells us that the attacker was laying in ambush for the victim," I finally concluded. "Somehow he anticipated the man's arrival at that spot and chose it to waylay the man. But it does not tell us why."

"Correct," Holmes nodded. "It also tells us that the attacker was a man long used to the sword. A good deal of skill went into that one thrust. Consider, Watson. Our victim is moving down the path in some haste. I determined that by the length of his stride. His attacker was laying in wait for him by the wall of the church, more than likely concealed in shadow. There was little moonlight at any rate. As the victim approaches the attacker steps out causing the man to rock back on his heels. He is not expecting to encounter anyone in that spot. He is an active man and as I surmise, one used to fighting. He is unlikely to stay still for long. Most likely his assailant knows this and is prepared for it. The assailant lunges out with his blade and shocks the victim into immobility causing a painful but non-lethal wound. The assailant takes the length of rope already prepared and slips it over the victims head. Then hoists him up and dallies off the end to the scaffold. His victim is choking but able to speak. Able to answer questions."

"How do you suppose the attacker knew where to intercept the victim, Holmes?"

"I would suggest that the attacker had followed the dead man and observed him on whatever errand the man was on," Holmes mused. "He then backtracked his steps to the church and gambled on the man returning by the same route. Morgan and his men were very careful as they entered the passage between the buildings and they did not go much beyond the scene of the crime. I observed that there were six sets of tracks in the grass leading beyond the corner of the church in the direction of the rectory."

"Six?" I interrupted.

"Two sets from the victim, two sets from the attacker and two from the grounds keeper that found the body," Holmes explained sedately.

"That goes a long way towards explaining the scene as we saw it," said I. "What about this monkey, Holmes?"

"That I am curious about myself." Holmes looked out of the window rubbing his lip thoughtfully. "Yes. It is peculiar that a man would bring along such a pet on a mission of this nature. It might have become excited and warned the victim of the ambush. A risk most men would not be inclined to take. It is not outside of our experience that the presence of an animal at the commission of a crime is purely incidental, however. I do not believe the creature was directly involved in the act. The fact that it was up on the scaffold suggests to me that our murderer was simply getting it out of harm's way. It does supply us with a few clues to the identity of the murderer. We will need many more before we can track him down, Watson. There is one other clue that Morgan or the coroner will discover once the body is removed to the morgue. A most singular tattoo upon the inside of the lower left forearm of the victim."

"A tattoo?"

"In the shape of a skull with a rose and a burning brand crossed above. All of which was encircled with two phrases," Holmes told me. "Above was the phrase: Liberdade e Independencia. Below was: Et in Arcadia ego."

"The first I think would be Liberty and Independence," I reasoned from my slight familiarity with various continental languages. "The second is Latin. Roughly, I too am in Arcadia. What does it mean, Holmes?"

"Excellent, Watson, you surpass yourself this morning," Holmes approved. "The meaning is not yet clear to me. As you know I am familiar with tattoos and their origins but this one is new to my experience. It was done somewhere on the Mediterranean Coast of Europe or at least in that style but other than that I can not place it. The symbols will be the most important clue to the meaning of the tattoo and what organization it belongs to. The words speak more to the nature of the organization. Liberty and Independence are both noble things but there are many less than noble causes that use those words as rallying cries. Arcadia, Watson, is widely viewed as an idyllic land of shepherds untainted by the vices of rule and government. A sort of Eden or Utopia."

"The victim might then be an anarchist," I said with some foreboding.

"Something of the sort, I think," Holmes agreed. "We may never know but I intend to look into it."

"So you do mean to pursue the case," I said.

"At least as far as the zoology department, Watson." Holmes shrugged. "The monkey interests me greatly. I doubt I will be able to turn anything up on the tattoo. It is just possible that this dead man is the only person with such a mark. After that the case may be of little interest. I am not currently in need of funds but I soon will be. I think it best if I keep an open calendar for the near future."

I could tell by Holmes's manner that he was not being genuine in his statement. I knew from long experience that Holmes was intrigued by this incident and the only thing preventing him from following it immediately was the fact that his friend would not be in his offices until the morning. I had no doubt whatever that when I arose to prepare for another day in my surgery, Holmes would already be gone from our rooms seeking answers. Inspector Morgan, I thought, would have all he could do to keep Holmes out of the case.

We retired to Baker Street and partook of a much delayed and much appreciated breakfast. Mrs. Hudson fussed over us briefly but when she was sure that we had tucked into our meal properly she departed smiling. Holmes did not speak much of the problem the remainder of the day and my attempts to draw him out met with limited success. Holmes was insistent on waiting until he had spoken with his friend, Professor Parsons, at the zoological department before he would speculate on the nature of the monkey. The only other clue I could drag out of him was that he believed it likely that the murderer of our thief walked with a limp. Holmes would not commit to this because he had seen only the impressions in a well tended lawn but he thought the man's right leg must have been injured at some point in the past. I occupied myself with making up my notes of the case for that day.

It was late in the afternoon when a telegram came addressed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Hudson brought it up and departed quietly. I observed Holmes as he read it and noted an expression of mingled pleasure and curiosity.

"Hand me down the 'H' volume, will you, Watson?"

I retrieved the commonplace book he requested wondering to myself what notable personage had sent the telegram. My curiosity was quickly satisfied for when I passed Holmes the book he passed me the telegram.

_ Mr. Sherlock Holmes,_

_ I have been informed of a burglary at my family's museum. I am travelling to London in the morning and wish very much to consult you. Please leave a message with the desk at Brown's Hotel regarding what time would be most convenient for me to call at your rooms._

_ Sincerely,_

_ J. A. Hawkins_

"Do you know this man, Holmes?" I asked somewhat puzzled.

"I know of him, Watson," Holmes replied cryptically. "As do you, though I perceive that you do not recognize the name."

"I do not," I admitted.

"James Alexander Hawkins," intoned Holmes as he read the entry in his book of notes, newspaper clippings and scraps. "Educated at Oxford, owner of the Benbow Press, last heir to the Hawkins fortune, a portfolio of investments ranging from silver mines in the United States to a flourishing trans-Atlantic shipping company. Well, well, Watson, there's money in this if nothing else. Let me see here. Yes. Son of the late Colonel Sir Henry Hawkins, KB. The very one I thought it must be."

"Do you mean, Holmes," I said with some astonishment. "that this is the great grandson of James Hawkins the adventurer?"

"The finder of Flint's Trove," Holmes nodded as he continued to scan the entry.

"Read his book when I was a lad." A foolish smile had crossed my lips. How well I remembered the story of young Jim Hawkins and the reprehensible 'Long' John Silver who befriended and betrayed him. The voyage to Skeleton Island and the mutiny had filled a week of a cold winter with visions of palm trees and exotic animals. I had read my copy many times and had read it again while convalescing in India after my wound at Maiwand. The tattered volume still sat upon a shelf among other treasured tomes in my room.

Upon returning to England, Jim Hawkins had grown into a fine man becoming known as James Hawkins. He had used his wealth to great advantage and taken a wife. As I understood it, James had purchased the home of his friend and co-adventurer Dr. Livesey after the Doctor's death and raised his family there. This new James Hawkins had inherited not only his ancestor's wealth but his business sense. He was accounted among the richest of men in the Empire.

Holmes wasted no time in sending off a message to the Brown Hotel stating that eleven o'clock would be most convenient to receive our guest. I confess that I had no further difficulty occupying the rest of the evening. I retired to my room and sat late into the night reading again of the adventures of Jim Hawkins and the good ship _Hispaniola_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

**Mr. James Alexander Hawkins**

I rose rather later than my usual want the next morning. I had no patients scheduled for the day and only some minor paperwork to do so there was no need of my venturing out. As I had anticipated, Holmes was not about. I was certain that he had set forth early to visit with his friend Parsons at the university zoology department. There were accounts of both the robbery that Mr. Hawkins mentioned in his telegram and the murder Holmes and I had investigated in all of the newspapers with sensationalised copy and few facts, at least so far as the murder was concerned. Morgan was playing his hand close to the chest. Meanwhile our old friend Inspector Lestrade had been put on the burglary. Uncharacteristically Lestrade made little of it to the press. Most of what I read concerning the robbery was actually about the Hawkins family and their great wealth. I read the stories through and found that they added nothing of the least interest to my notes.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Holmes swept through the door to our rooms in high good humour. He evidently had met with some success.

"South and Central America, Watson!" Holmes cried as he cast off his hat and slid his walking stick into the stand by the door. "Parsons was not able to narrow it down more than that but he was certain that the print was made by a new world monkey rather than one from Africa or Asia. The size and shape of the print convinced him. We looked for two hours at least before we finally gave up on finding anything more definite. Never the less, I am satisfied with the facts we were able to come up with."

I outlined the articles in the papers for Holmes, offering my opinion that the burglary was of little significance of itself otherwise Lestrade would have made more of it.

"Little significance to Lestrae, perhaps, Watson," Holmes chided me. "But something has clearly disturbed our client."

"Lestrade doesn't even bother to tell what was stolen Holmes," I said.

"Whatever it was, Mr. Hawkins values it or something related to it," Holmes stood pat. I conceded the point.

We spent the remainder of the hour before our visitor arrived in tidying up the rooms and seeing that our notes were as complete as possible. Holmes made a point of reading the newspaper articles over twice. So it was that when our guest did arrive he found us in a state of preparedness.

Mr. James Alexander Hawkins was a sun darkened, robust man in his early thirties with a jaunty bounce to his step. Tall but not imposing, there was a life to him that spoke of energy and vigour. He walked with confidence and an amiability that compelled one to like him. It was a pleasure to shake his hand.

"I thank you again, Mr. Holmes, for making time in your day to see me," Hawkins said when the amenities had been attended to and Holmes had offered him a seat on the divan. "I'm sure you can imagine the distress that the loss of those heirlooms has put me to."

"Of course," Holmes said politely. "I can see that you must have attended to some urgent paperwork prior to departing your home and that you said a hasty goodbye to your fashionable young lady and your terrier. Though, I do not actually know what heirlooms were stolen."

"How did you know that my fiancée is fashionable?" Hawkins smiled. "And how did you deduce the rest?"

"There is a blush of lady's face powder on your collar. It is a shade found only among the products manufactured by a certain French salon that caters to young women of good taste. The salon in question has existed for only three years. Older women tend to be set in their ways and would be very unlikely to use it. The paperwork is given away by a small, reverse letter 'J' and a reverse number '5' in dark ink on your cuff. I take you for a man neat in habit and so this evidence tells me the paperwork was urgent and that you are under enough strain to either not notice the ink or consider it unimportant in light of other concerns." Holmes pointed to Hawkins's trouser leg where there were a number of fine, wiry, white hairs below the knee. "In your haste to depart for your train you did not have time to brush your trousers. Another sign of distress as once you were upon your train you did not then brush the hairs away. Your mind was elsewhere, I assume. The hairs are likely from a terrier, I admit it could be a mongrel, though, that a man of your station in life would have anything but a pure bred dog is unthinkable."

"I have read Doctor Watson's accounts of your cases, Mr. Holmes," Hawkins said with an infectious smile. "It's a pleasure to witness your abilities first hand. What else can you determine about me, sir?"

Holmes returned the smile.

"Aside from the information I have gathered from the press, I see you are a man that enjoys working with your hands and who sails regularly. Such calluses would not develop on hands that did only paperwork, Mr. Hawkins. Your darkened skin speaks not only of the sun but of wind. Though you are young there are lines forming at the corners of your eyes. The result, no doubt, of squinting into the glare from the sea. You also have something of the swinging gate of a seafaring man, however, it is not so pronounced as to mark you as one who lives upon the waves," Holmes said indulging our client. He went on to ask, "What is it that I can do for you, sir?"

"You have read the local accounts of the burglary at my family's museum?' Hawkins asked settling back on the divan. Holmes and I both nodded. "You say, though, that you do not know what was stolen."

"The papers did not contain any list of items, Mr. Hawkins," I said.

"That's just as well," Hawkins rubbed his chin. "What was taken really has no intrinsic value, gentlemen. It was the pair of brass mounted compasses that my great grandfather and great-great grandmother found in Billy Bones's sea chest. You can buy similar compasses throughout England and the continent at any store dealing in antiquities. These were of good make but not particularly remarkable other than they had belonged to Billy Bones and were recorded in Treasure Island."

"Was there nothing else taken?" Holmes asked.

"Nothing whatever."

"Were these the only items on display that might easily have been carried off?" I asked.

"Oh no, Doctor," Hawkins replied firmly. He drew from his pocket a list on which was recorded an inventory. "Here, gentlemen, is the list of this quarter's rotating collection. Every three months I or one of my agents brings a new collection of items from the original cache that have been passed down to me from my great grandfather. They are displayed in locked glass cases on the first floor of the museum. The more valuable pieces are shut up in a vault every night but most of what is displayed would not really be worth stealing."

I read the list aloud, "Fifty coins of silver and gold of various denominations, three jewelled rings taken from the treasure, two silver necklaces mounted with sapphires, a golden chalice of Spanish make, a small silver bar with a Spanish stamp, and the copy of the map that James Hawkins made before the voyage."

"When did the theft take place, Mr. Hawkins?" Holmes asked.

"Some time between eight of the evening when the museum and library closed its doors on Saturday and ten forty-five on Sunday morning when Professor Wadsworth dropped in to retrieve his walking stick which he had forgotten the evening before," Hawkins said. "Quite a bit of time for the burglar to filch any number of more expensive items had he wanted to."

"You say that the more valuable pieces are stored in a vault over night," Holmes said.

"They are," Hawkins affirmed. "But there are a large number of valuable books on the ground floor that would be easy to dispose of for a high profit. Also, there are some articles in the museum's collection of no small value because they are quite rare. A few swords made by famous craftsmen in Toledo and Florence. Several very fine examples of pistols and muskets that would fetch a high price and be nearly untraceable. We have a small number of paintings by lesser masters, too. Had he walked off with any of those my insurers would be apoplectic."

"Aside from the origin of the compasses, was there anything special about them?" Holmes wanted to know.

"Special?" Hawkins considered for a moment. "No, Mr. Holmes. They were good examples of the instruments made in the early to mid eighteenth century. There was a makers mark upon one but the other, of slightly different manufacture, was plane."

"And what was the makers mark?" Holmes asked.

"Initials only," Hawkins said. "L.J.S. We always joked that they'd been made by John Silver. That's nonsense of course. The maker has never been tracked down."

"Is it possible that they had belonged to Silver?" I asked.

"I doubt it, Doctor." Hawkins shook his head. "From what I've learned of Silver over the years I don't believe Billy Bones would have held onto something that had belonged to him. He was mortally afraid of Silver, you see. I don't think he would have wanted to give the man with one leg any additional reason to seek him out."

"It's a little beside the point, Watson," Holmes interjected. "The compasses can not be traced to a specific maker and therefore are not of significant value to a general collector who might pick up equally useful items for his collection without incurring any legal risk. The plane nature of these compasses is worth noting. It makes them difficult to trace. We do know that they were the originals from the grand adventure and a burglar snatching them from the display at the museum would, I assume, need only read a placard to learn this. So some one wanted those particular compasses."

"I agree with you, Mr. Holmes," said Hawkins. "Not only because of the nature of this burglary but also because I have had several offers from two people to purchase other heirlooms in my possession."

"Other heirlooms, Mr. Hawkins?" Holmes sat up straight in his chair. His full attention focussed on our guest.

"I have kept the entire inventory in my home for years. It was only after my father died that it occurred to me to make it available for public viewing," Hawkins explained. "I had occasionally had guests who were interested in seeing the whole collection but recently I have had two people offer to buy the lot outright. One is my neighbour. A Mr. Jonathan Smythe. He seems a good fellow but a little odd in his habits and queer of personality. Flighty, you might say. He has hosted me aboard his yacht on several outings. A great one for the sea but I think he may have had too much sun at some point. A fantastic story teller. Enjoys low company, though, he is quite rich. I believe he made his money in the Orient. Purchased his home some ten or twelve years ago when the previous owner died. Tells tales of Singapore and keeps an Oriental as his majordomo. The other is a continental. A man I have never met by the name of Mr. Robert Tallman. In a single letter he introduced himself and then offered to buy the collection saying that I could name my price and he would match it. Rather insulting in its way. As if I would just up and hand the stuff over to anyone with enough money. I'd sooner my neighbour got it."

"I take it that you do not believe this Mr. Tallman and Mr. Smythe are one and the same," Holmes said.

"I should think not," Hawkins smiled. "Smitty is a rascal but I don't think he's up to that sort of cheek."

"By Smitty, you mean Mr. Smythe?"

"Yes," Hawkins grinned. "He's quite a character. Likes to be called either Captain or Smitty. Most peculiar since I doubt very seriously that he ever served in any military. I think he was a merchant sea captain and somehow struck it rich. As I said, he tells fantastic stories. Everything from cursed gold, to cannibals, to mermaids. He'd give my great grandfather a run for his money. Even gave his yacht a funny name. _King Elizabeth_ of all things. Ha!"

I will admit that our client's good humour got the better of me. I found myself chuckling along with Mr. James Hawkins but even as I did so I noticed a peculiar glint in Holmes's eyes. He was, I was certain, very interested in this Mr. Smythe.

"So, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said breaking in on our mirth. "What exactly is it you would like me to do?"

"In short, Mr. Holmes, I want you to recover the stolen compasses for me," Hawkins said drawing from his pocket a blank cheque. "I know, sir, that you often do not charge for your services but I mean to pay you handsomely for your efforts on my behalf. I have the cheque made out. All that needs to be done is to fill in the amount. All I'm interested in at this point is discovering who burgled my museum and where the compasses are. I will settle for getting the compasses back. That is the main thing. If it can be found out, I would like to know who did it, though."

"Please, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes began. I thought for a moment he was about to refuse either the cheque or the case. I needn't have feared as it turned out. "Put away your cheque, sir. I will not require it until my task is complete. And at that time I will submit an itemised bill."

"So you will take the case, Mr. Holmes?" Hawkins asked anxiously.

"How could I resist so singular a problem, sir?" Holmes replied with that coolly confident smile. "It would be best to begin at the beginning. I will need to see the museum before the scene is further disturbed."

"Excellent, Mr. Holmes!" Hawkins surged to his feet in excitement. "I've asked Inspector Lestrade to meet us there at twelve noon. I also made sure that nothing would be touched by my staff and I ordered the library and museum closed until you should tell me it were safe to allow the public in once more."

It was a few minutes while Holmes and I gathered our things and then we were off to the museum.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

**The Hawkins Memorial Museum and Library**

We were soon before the museum's doors. It struck me as Holmes and I stepped down from the cab that we were only a stone's throw from St. James Church and the mysterious murder. In fact, I had glimpsed the steeple of the church as we had made our way through the streets. The Hawkins Library was a few doors up from the London Library and at the end of the block of buildings I observed the East India Club where I had dined with friends only the week before.

"My word, Watson," Holmes said under his breath once I'd paid the driver. "You've noted where we are?"

"Of course, Holmes," I said nodding in the direction of the church.

"This may prove more interesting than I had hoped," Holmes said as we ascended the three steps of the portico behind our client. We were met by a young constable who greeted Mr. Hawkins, nodded to Holmes and myself and then courteously held open the door to admit us to the main rooms of the library. Hawkins led us up a flight of stairs to the first floor where the museum was housed. Here we found Inspector Lestrade of our long acquaintance standing next to a smashed display case.

"Good morning, Lestrade," Hawkins greeted the Inspector.

"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said stepping over to greet us in his most amiable manner. "And good morning to you, too, Doctor."

"So what of this burglary, Lestrade?" Holmes asked gesturing at the broken glass and debris from the case.

"An unusual one, sir," Lestrade scratched at his chin. "I think it may be in the line of a collector."

"Mr. Hawkins shares your belief." Holmes said.

"Indeed, Mr. Hawkins has told me his suspicions. As you likely guessed my lads and I made a complete search of the museum and the library downstairs. According to Professor Wadsworth, the curator, nothing is out of place." Lestrade consulted his notes. "The Professor came by yesterday morning at about ten forty-five after attending mass. He said that he wanted to pick up his walking stick as he had left it here the night before. His office is just down that isle there in the back of the museum and as he passed he saw that the case had been smashed. He took a look around then summoned the constable on patrol at the end of the street. They rushed back here and the constable reported the incident. I was summoned and we conducted a thorough search of the premises."

"Where did the thief gain entry?" Holmes asked as he leaned over the case and the broken glass. He drew out his measuring tape and plied it to an irregular pattern in the glass on the floor.

"One of my lads found the door to the roof had been jimmied from the outside and its lock wrenched loose, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade replied. "I think it's very clear that the burglar came across the roof from another building and it is likely that he departed the same way."

"You do not suspect the Professor of fabricating the break in," I said.

"No indeed, Doctor," Lestrade replied confidently.

"The man is of good reputation, Dr. Watson," Hawkins assured me.

"And he seemed somewhat in shock when I arrived," Lestrade added. "Besides, Professor Wadsworth is at least seventy if he's a day. I doubt the man would have the strength to pry the door open in that way."

"You seem to be on top of things, Lestrade," Holmes said rising.

"I believe I am, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said puffing out his narrow chest ever so slightly. "I can't rightly figure why some one would take such a risk for so minor a prize, though."

"If it is a collector, as you and Mr. Hawkins believe, Lestrade," I said. "There are many collectors who would pay very well for the thing they most desire."

"I agree with you, Doctor," Lestrade said. "I just have this feeling there is more to it than meets the eye. I was wondering what your thoughts might be, Mr. Holmes, as to who might want items such as these compasses. You have many contacts that may be able to put me on the track of the man who did this or paid to have it done."

"I can think of no collector at the moment, Lestrade," Holmes said looking to our client.

"I have informed Mr. Holmes of the two men who recently offered to purchase the collection, Inspector," Hawkins said.

"Of course, sir," Lestrade bowed his head politely to our client.

"I would like to see the roof, Lestrade," Holmes said.

Lestrade lead us to the stairs and up a flight to a landing with a kind of hatch above it. The lock had been fairly torn from the wood and the door itself was splintered. Holmes gave the door a brief but thorough examination before we exited to the roof and at a sign from Holmes, Hawkins, Lestrade and I stood by the door. The heat of the day had already risen sharply and it was made more intense by the lack of shade and the fact that the roof reflected the heat up at us. Holmes ignored this and stalked carefully across the tarred surface. He seemed to find something, for he paused and then knelt. In a moment he took his cane and pointed it much like a rifle toward one corner of the building.

"This way gentlemen!" Holmes called to us. We trotted across the black, sandy surface to stand next to my old friend as he looked over the edge of the wall. He pointed as we came to a stop. "There. You see it?"

Ten feet below on the roof of the adjoining building was an object as long as my forearm and as thick as my thumb.

"The thief's pry bar, Lestrade," Holmes said with a slight satisfaction in his voice. "Your deduction was correct. I had no doubt it would be so."

"How did we miss that?" Lestrade said with some consternation and a little embarrassment.

"You searched in the afternoon, did you not?" Holmes said.

"We did," confirmed Lestrade. "It was broad daylight."

"I should think that that portion of the adjoining roof was cast in deep shadow," Holmes explained. "The pry bar is painted black. Your men merely overlooked it."

"But how did the thief gain this roof, Holmes?" I asked. "Even a vigorous man would need some help to jump high enough to catch this wall."

"Look just there, Watson." Holmes pointed to a group of scratch marks in the tar and several on the knee high wall. "I believe he used a grapnel. A small one but large enough to do the job."

"He must have taken it with him when he left." Lestrade bent over to peer at the outer surface of the building. "There are some scuff marks on the wall at about the level to which a man might lower himself by his hands. I wager you're right, Mr. Holmes. He dropped the hook and followed it down. Not the easiest thing to do in the dark but it could be done with little risk. He must have dropped the pry bar when he landed and wasn't able to find it at night. The roof would have been even darker at that time."

"Sound reasoning," Holmes agreed with a note of approval. "Watson, be so good as to take my cane and meet me with a hansom over on the next street there. Hopefully, Mr. Hawkins, I will have some answers for you shortly. I shall be a little time, I'm afraid. You'll need to be patient."

We watched as Holmes dropped from our roof to the next with considerable ease. He stood up and brushed himself clean of the dust from the wall then began his customary search.

"Inspector," Holmes called without looking up. "I shall communicate to you anything I find. Until then, I bid you good day."

Lestrade and I exchanged a look before we all returned to the museum through the hatchway door. I assured the Inspector that he would hear any details that Holmes turned up and then Mr. Hawkins and I were off to whistle up a cab and meet Holmes on the street he had indicated.

* * *

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen," Holmes said coming up to the cab thirty minutes later. "221 Baker Street, Cabbie. Thank you."

"Did you discover anything, Mr. Holmes?" our client asked when the cab was under way.

"Much and little," Holmes said enigmatically. He dropped a length of good rope and a three pronged iron hook on the floor of the cab. We waited while he ordered his thoughts. "It can be very educational to observe the city from a rooftop. The things you can see are sometimes very interesting. You would not believe the number of birds there are in the city. And the pigeons seem nearly fearless of man."

"The case, Holmes," I urged him. "This is the hook the man used to scale the wall?"

"Yes," he fairly purred. It was the old Holmes on the scent of something. "I am convinced now, Watson, that Lestrade's thief and Morgan's victim are the same man. I am also convinced that the monkey had a more important role in the affair than I had originally assumed. Look at this and tell me what you think."

Holmes produced another of his clay discs. Like the one from the previous morning this one had been pressed over a print in some film of dust. It seemed odd to my eye. The first print had been very clear and outlined the simian hand in a well defined pattern. This one looked like it in size but there was a strange texture to its edges that I could not account for.

"It is very similar, Holmes, but not quite the same," I told him. "Could it be another of the little creatures?"

"I do not believe so, Watson," Holmes said. "I will admit that where there is one, two are possible. In this case I doubt it. I noted that the majority of the tracks that I found were as the one we collected this morning. There were only a few such as this."

"Perhaps it got tar or even water on its hand as it crossed the roof," I offered.

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Hawkins ejaculated. "Pardon me but what has a monkey to do with my stolen compasses? Who is Morgan and who is his victim? I'm all at sea."

"Forgive us, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said conciliatorily. "We were carried away in the moment."

Holmes proceeded to outline the events of the previous morning filling in some of his suspicions along with the facts as we knew them.

"I discovered the hook and line upon the roof of an accountant's offices and the flats he has above," Holmes explained. "The proprietor's maid was hanging out the linens when I dropped to the roof. I'm afraid I quite startled the poor woman half to death. Once I had explained my errand she watched me like a hawk but did not object to my search. It did not take very long to locate these articles still in place at the back of the building. The rope dangled down into an alley. After I pulled it up the maid kindly conducted me to the service stairs and I made my way to you."

"You believe the two events are connected, Mr. Holmes?" Hawkins asked clearly interested.

"I am convinced of it, sir. The evidence of these prints is circumstantial but I feel that it is compelling." Holmes turned his attention to me. "Watson, your suggestion might explain the change if the tracks were consistent. It does not hold up when you consider that the next track was as the one we found earlier. Then a few paces onward it change back to this sort of outline. Naturally I was unable to follow the animal step by step as there is not so much dust and dirt on the roofs of our city. But, I was able to follow it well enough and it left enough tracks for me to note the differences."

"So this animal followed the victim to the museum and then back to the church?" I asked.

"I can see few other plausible possibilities for the monkey to have been in both places. That is the most likely case," Holmes said. He tucked the new disc of clay back into his pocket and was silent a moment.

"One thing I have been considering, Holmes," I said breaking into his revere'. "Why would the attacker risk waylaying the thief at the church?"

"Risk, Watson?" Holmes seemed amused. "Little enough risk at that hour of the morning. The church and its grounds would have been deserted. The rectory was shut up for the night. There would have been virtually no traffic on the streets of that neighbourhood. The scene of the crime would have been cast in heavy shadow."

"But the thief might have called out for help," Mr. Hawkins argued. "He might have ended up in jail for a time but he would still have lived."

"He was not able to call out," Holmes said sedately.

"Of course! The rope was about his neck almost from the start of the attack." It made sense to me now. What under other circumstances might have been a very risky location to conduct such an act as had been perpetrated, now looked to be nearly as secure as a lock hole or a dungeon. "You say the monkey had a more important role than you suspected earlier. Do you believe it acted as some sort of sentry?"

"A spy of sorts, I think," Holmes said seriously. "A very clever and well trained animal it must be. As Inspector Lestrade has said, Watson, there is more here than meets the eye."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

**To Black Hill Cove**

Hawkins had agreed with Holmes that the police should be informed of what Holmes had discovered. They resolved to say nothing of the presence of the monkey's footprints, however. We all believed that the official police would look at such evidence with a jaundiced eye, which would cause the other evidence to have less weight in their investigation. I wondered how Lestrade and Morgan would work things out between them. Clearly Morgan's murder investigation was of greater import but Lestrade was, I think, better liked by their superiors.

Unable to do more at that time we delivered our client to his hotel and returned to Baker Street. Holmes was in a contemplative mood and I knew from past experience that his great mind was turning over the facts of the case and examining the minute details carefully. Not wishing to disturb him I retired to my room after supper and took up my copy of Treasure Island to reacquaint myself with the fantastic tale of more than one hundred years before. I had always been intrigued with the idea of the hoarded treasure. Upon reading it again I was struck by the strangeness of Flint's actions in keeping the hoard. Would it not have been more likely for Flint and his crew to divide it up and spend it? Had not Jim Hawkins himself described how the mutineers had had no thought for the morrow? What mania could have caused Flint to keep such a trove and not fritter it away on all manner of earthly pleasures? With these thoughts drifting through my mind I fell asleep late in the evening.

I woke the next morning with Holmes shaking my shoulder.

"Watson!" Holmes barked. "Wake up, old man. We must hurry."

Blinking and rubbing the sleep from my eyes I sat up to look at the clock on my wall. It was a quarter after six in the morning.

"What has happened, Holmes?" I asked feeling none to spry. I was not as young as I once was.

"A commissionaire brought a note from Mr. Hawkins," Holmes explained. "There was an attempt to break into his home in Black Hill Cove late last night. I have no details. Hawkins bids us to Brown's Hotel. Mrs. Hudson has coffee but you must dress quickly and then we're off."

My old routine of many years asserted itself and soon I was properly clothed though shoddily shaven. I gulped my coffee with no grace whatever and joined Holmes on the street where he had summoned a hansom. We were whisked off to the luxurious hotel in a matter of minutes. A bellman conducted us to Mr. Hawkins's suite where we found our client in the midst of packing his own bags.

"Mr. Holmes," Hawkins shook my friend's hand vigorously as he pulled us into the room. "Thank you both for coming so quickly. I am in a whirl trying to think what to do."

"Please, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said in a steady voice. "Calm yourself and start at the beginning."

Hawkins nodded once then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He fished in a pocket and came out with a cigarette case. Once the fag was lit he drew deeply from it and seemed steadier. When he had mastered his passion he was able to speak.

"It's like this," Hawkins began. "An emergency telegram came for me nearly an hour ago. It reported that my grounds keeper, a man named Cotton, had interrupted two men as they were attempting to force open the window leading into my private study. Cotton, an old seaman, attacked them. Bless the day the parson brought him to me. Cotton drove them back with a shovel. Good man that he is he took a blow to the head in the fight but stood his ground until the rest of my staff was aroused. Once they were outnumbered the men fled into the night and naught has been seen of them. Westen, my steward, alerted the local constabulary and immediately sent word to me here. What's to be done, Mr. Holmes?"

"To your knowledge these men were stopped before they entered the house?" Holmes asked.

"So far as I know," Hawkins confirmed.

"That is to the good," Holmes said pacing a bit.

"What do you think I should do, Mr. Holmes?" Hawkins asked anxiously.

Turning on his heel, Holmes cast a piercing gaze upon our client and seemed slowly to come to a decision.

"Mr. Hawkins," Holmes finally began. "I take you for a man of some character. I believe there to be no purpose in your remaining in London at this time. The police have begun their investigation and since you were not a witness to either crime there is nothing for you to do. I find that I must look into one or two things here in the city, however. I know Watson has a few patients he must make arrangements for also."

"Surely you will not leave me to see to this attempt on my home all alone," Hawkins said almost desperately.

"No," Holmes assured him. "I must stay here for a little time, as I said. I think Watson might join you later today. Is that possible, Doctor?"

"I have only two patients requiring me at the moment, Holmes," I told him. "I can always count on Johnson to take my practice for a few days. He is a very reliable man."

"Excellent, Doctor," Holmes said. I could see he was hot for the challenge and wished to be about it as soon as may be. "Then, Mr. Hawkins, you must take the early train back to your home. Once there be certain that the scene is not disturbed any further. Make no mention of my coming. Watson will be your guest and arrive this evening. I will come when I have attended to the things here."

Placated by our assurances Mr. Hawkins shook our hands and turned back to his preparations for departing London. Holmes and I made our way back to 221B. Holmes stayed silent the whole way back to our rooms and it was not until we had crossed our threshold that he finally spoke.

"I thought there was more to this case than the murder and the burglary, Watson, and now we know I was right."

"What will you do?" I asked.

"Do?" Holmes blinked at me. "As I said, I have several things to look into today. This attempt to break into Hawkins's home requires me to act more swiftly than I had planned. Never the less, I will not act in undo haste. I need data to solve this, Watson."

"Well, if I am to help I should have some idea of how to go about it, Holmes," said I.

"Of course, dear fellow!" Holmes beamed at me. He had that fevered look in his eyes that he always did when there was a case of real interest for him. "Do you remember how you conducted yourself when we aided Sir Henry Baskerville?"

"Naturally," I said. I remembered well how, many years prior, Holmes had sent me alone into the confusing landscape of treachery that I recorded as the Hound of the Baskervilles.

"You must do much the same thing in this case," Holmes said. He cast off his jacket and donned his dressing-gown. "I will be coming along in a day or two. I will not arrive as myself nor will I arrive by train, I think. We may cross paths but until you see me as I normally am you must not let on that you know me. That will be vital. Do not even tell Mr. Hawkins."

"I see," I said. "You wish to remain incognito. What of the scene of the attempted break in?"

"Observe it yourself in detail," Holmes said. "I do not believe that there will be any vital clues there. It strikes me that the men who made the attempt will be the same sort as the man murdered at Saint James Church. Agents only. Not the man directing the action."

"And what if you are wrong?" I asked.

"Then your observations will be of very great importance," he said gravely. "Watson, you must pack. There will be a train, I am sure, at or about eight. You must be on it."

"Of course, Holmes," I said turning towards my room.

"Watson," Holmes called after me. I stopped and looked back. "Do take a few minutes to shave again. There is enough time for that at least."

I'm afraid that I muttered something then that I can not put down here.

So it was that I boarded the 8:15 at Charring Cross and began the long journey to Bristol. In that good old city I boarded a new train and travelled south to Black Hill Cove where I was the only passenger to descend to the station's little platform. I confess that I had a rush of nostalgia as I looked about. The town itself was quite old fashioned, in line with the country districts of some twenty years before and I dare say that it had likely changed little since the time when Jim Hawkins had sailed for Skeleton Island. Mr. Hawkins had sent a well appointed dog cart for me pulled by a fine bay gelding. The driver was an older gentleman of medium height, wrinkled and weathered from years in the sun. About his head was a white bandage and I took him for the old seaman Mr. Hawkins had taken on as his grounds keeper.

"You must be Mr. Cotton," I said approaching him.

Rather than speaking the old man nodded with a smile and stooped to take my bag. He stowed it in the back of the dogcart and graciously motioned me in.

"How long will it be to Mr. Hawkins home?" I asked.

Cotton squinted in thought for a moment then held up a single finger and then opened his hand to display all five. Something was odd about the man and I began to suspect he was a mute.

"You mean fifteen minutes, my good man?" I asked.

He nodded again with that same smile and climbed aboard the dogcart. After a short interval of travelling through the quaint little village we emerged onto a country lane with small fields to either side all dotted with sheep and small herds of horses and ponies. I ventured once more to question my driver.

"How is your head? Any difficulty with your eyes?"

Cotton shook his head and shrugged. He whistled up the horse and we trotted along at a good pace that would not unduly tire the animal. It was a fine summer day and not wanting to distress Cotton with any more attempts at conversation I relaxed back in the seat and took in the pleasant country scene about me. After a moment it occurred to my mind that we might well be travelling the very road upon which Jim Hawkins and Thomas Redruth had set out to meet their friends and voyage off from Bristol to the treasure trove aboard the _Hispaniola_. My heart felt light and I had difficulty reconciling the recent crimes with this beautiful landscape.

Mr. Cotton had been correct in his estimate of our journey. We arrived at Livesey House, as it was locally known, in less than a quarter of an hour. The home itself was larger than I had expected but not ostentatious. Its grounds were a neat combination of open grassy fields, hedges and copses of trees. To the rear I could see a smaller out building of some sort at the back of a spacious garden. We rolled up the long drive to the front door where I was greeted by Mr. Hawkins and another of his servants as well as his little terrier. A bright eyed and watchful little creature that stayed close to his master.

"Dr. Watson," Hawkins said opening the door at the rear of the dogcart. I was impressed that a man of his standing was very much the hands on host. "Welcome to my home. Does Mr. Holmes send any word?"

"He had no further news when we parted at the station," I told my host as I stepped down to the neatly tended gravel of the drive. Turning to Mr. Cotton I said, "You will let me know if you have any pain, won't you?"

Cotton gave me what I took to be a grateful smile and nodded before he turned back to the reins. The other servant took my bag and Hawkins led me up the steps of the portico as Cotton drove off around the side of the house.

"That was Mr. Cotton as I believe you will have guessed," Hawkins said as we entered his home. "He insisted on being the one to pick you up from the station. I don't know why but I suspect that it was to show me that he was still fit for duty."

"You had not mentioned he was a mute," I observed as the servant took my hat and walking stick.

"I had not anticipated you meeting him until you arrived here," Hawkins confessed. "And I suppose with all of the rush and hub-bub I simply forgot. I hope it was not an inconvenience."

"Oh no," I said. "Only unexpected, I assure you. He was quite polite and seems to have learned to deal with people unused to communicating with him. Was he born a mute?"

"No," Hawkins said with a slight pitying tone to his voice. "He ran afoul of some very bad folk in South America. Had his tongue cut out for what reason no one knows. The parson knew him from years ago it seems and brought him to me with quite a good word for the man. I must say that he has been an excellent grounds keeper and a very loyal servant as evinced by his conduct of last night."

I was shown to my room by the under butler and found it to be a very pleasant place. With its tall windows looking out over the back garden I was struck by the contrast between this country estate and my old rooms at Baker Street. It was furnished in the style of the last century but very well kept and there was gas laid on throughout the house. I was later to learn that Mr. Hawkins had already planned to electrify the estate as soon as the service became available in the district.

After a change of clothes and seeing to my toilet I rejoined my host in his drawing room. As I stepped through the door I found yet another room that seemed to have change little from the last century. Hawkins offered me a cigarette which I declined and then he led me through a double door into his private study. This room was furnished very differently. Here the style was more modern with a large writing desk in the middle and two walls lined with books. To one side there were display cases much like the ones at the museum in London. In them were the various artefacts from the old sea captain's chest including a twist of tobacco and the five West Indian shells.

"This is the window where the men were attempting to force entry," Hawkins informed me indicating a window that showed a view of the back garden.

From my pocket I produce my notebook and examined the inside of the window noting down all that I could see. There were several scratches in the paint near the latch but no other sign of the attempted break in. I looked through the glass and once more saw the building at the back of the garden. It was a cottage of no mean size with a stable attached. I also noted a small fountain with a led statue of a Greek lady holding a water jar. This was surrounded by low stone benches and very attractive beds of flowers.

"I know the afternoon is growing late," Hawkins said. "Would you care to see the area outside the window?"

"Yes. Very much," I affirmed. "Holmes was concerned that there might be some weather or that the local police would disturb the scene before he was able to view it himself."

"The constables were here this morning, of course," Hawkins admitted. "I doubt they did more than look at the scene. The situation was pretty clear and the staff was here to tell them the whole of it."

We took a side hall to the kitchen where dinner was being prepared and then out of the kitchen door to the garden. A stone flagged path led around shrubs and bushes to a point just below the window to the study. Remembering Holmes's method I first looked over the scene in general and noted down that it revealed very little aside from footprints in the grass. I could see where the two men had stood and also where there had been a scuffle. Careful to disturb none of the prints I stepped around to the window itself to see what I might. Again I noted the scratch marks in the paint and I made sure to use my tape to measure the height of the sill from the ground and the size of one clear print.

"How was Cotton able to raise the alarm if he can not speak?" I asked Mr. Hawkins.

"He whistled quite loudly several times." Hawkins chuckled. "Everyone in the household knows Cotton's whistle when they hear it. My steward and the under butler came down and when they saw what was going on they raised their own alarm and rushed out with a poker and a meat cleaver. In no time at all the criminals were facing half my staff, God bless them one and all."

"And how did they escape?"

"They drew pistols and backed across the garden." Hawkins pointed toward a corner where there was a large tree. "Went through the field in the general direction of Trelawney House. The best anyone can make out they slipped down the ledges near the beach and made off in a boat."

"Trelawney House?" I asked.

"Yes. Mr. Smythe's residence." Hawkins pointed across the fields to a large, slate shingled house. I could see few details other than a turret at one corner.

"Would you mind taking me around to Mr. Smythe and introducing me tomorrow?" I asked. Then added, "I should like very much to have a look at the path the thieves are believed to have taken."

"Certainly," Hawkins said. "Smitty will be delighted to meet you, Doctor, I'm sure."

* * *

**A.N.** - Several people have expressed the opinion that Mr. Cotton would not be able to whistle without his tongue. Because of them, I have done a little research and even went so far as to request help from a professional in the medical field, oqidaun, who is also a member of the _Black Pearl_ forum.

I make these three arguments: 1) Between my research and that of oqidaun the two of us have been unable to find any reference indicating that a person could not whistle without a tongue and several pieces of information that indicate that a person could. The tongue is primarily used to change pitch when whistling. It does not actually create the tone. The angle of the lips and how tightly they are held create the tone in a similar manner to a Helmholtz resonator. (Don't believe me? Look it up.) There are methods of whistling that require the tongue but the one most common does not.

2) If Mr. Cotton has spent a considerable amount of time at sea with nothing to do but sail a ship I believe he could have and likely would have figured out how to whistle without his tongue. It's amazing what you can do when you are bored.

3) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had several questionable and improbable bits of information in his stories. I will refrain from listing them but I will point directly to the "Lion's Mane" as one of them. I feel that I am well within the bounds of good story telling to have Mr. Cotton raise the alarm by whistling.

Finally, I will say this: It's a minor plot point in a rather detailed story with several chapters to go before the end. Is it really that important to point it out to me? Please, just accept it and enjoy the rest of the story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

**The Fields**

I rose early the next morning and dressed for a country stroll. Mr. Hawkins had business to attend to after breakfast but renewed his promise of the evening before and bade me well on my morning walk. He warned me to be careful should I wander toward the sea. The stony cliffs there were want to unexpectedly give way from time to time. He explained that this had been the cause of death of the previous owner of Trelawney House. I assured him that I would be careful and after breakfast I took my field glasses and my walking stick and set out towards the fields at the back of the garden.

I had walked the various paths through my host's fields searching for any clear track that would take me or anyone to the sea shore where a boat might be secreted. I knew from the original Mr. Hawkins's book that there was a place called Kitt's Hole that would lead down to a rocky cove where a large boat could anchor. Finally I came upon a path that answered the purpose I had in mind. I was about to descend to the beach when I caught sight of a woman clad in a light beige dress and a sun hat in the distance. I know not why to this day but I found that my eye was drawn to her.

To my surprise I discerned as she approached that she was very dark of skin. Being a travelled man, I have learned that there are beautiful women of every race. This lady confirmed my observations. She was not conventionally pretty in the way of English women but certainly she was striking. No taller than average she was very slim and the grace she displayed as she traversed the distance between us held my eye as much as her appearance. A gentleman does not stare at a lady, however, so I turned my eyes from her and took up my field glasses to examine the beach below. I was so engaged when I heard a soft footfall behind me. I had not realized that I had been looking at the beach for so long that the lady was able to close the distance unobserved.

I turned to greet her but found myself at a loss for words having been taken off my guard. The lady's eyes twinkled with mischief and she smiled demurely. With something of a self conscious chuckle I found my voice.

"Hello," I said. "I am John Watson. Doctor John Watson. Good day to you, miss."

"A doctor?" said the lady still smiling. "Hello, Doctor. My name is Hinemoana Haliai. I am pleased to meet you."

I noted her accent but was at a complete loss as to where she might be from. I supposed she could have been born on any number of islands or tropical coasts.

"A pleasure to meet you also, Miss Haliai," I replied being careful to mimic her pronunciation. "I was just out for a stroll and thought I would have a look at the beach."

"It is not de mos' beautiful of beaches but it has a strength to it dat many lack," Miss Haliai said. I was struck by the oddity of her statement. "De sea here is col' but vibrant, Doctor. It is filled wid' life. I was jus' on my way to collect some shells. Woul' you care to jyoin me?"

I readily agreed and found myself escorting the young woman along the stony path that twisted its way down to the shore among boulders and tussocks of tall grass. She seemed very much at home on the uneven ground, taking pleasure in the scene around her with the sea wind blowing her dark hair from under her sun hat. I realised later that, though my old leg wound had gradually grown more irksome as I had gotten older, I was able to descend the path with no more trouble than I would have had twenty years before. Truthfully, I found myself completely sidetracked while in the company of Miss Haliai. It had been years since I had so enjoyed the company of anyone. Since the death of my dear wife Mary, in fact.

As we strolled along the beach she hunted among the stones for little shells that escaped my eye entirely. She would stoop and pluck one from the sand and after swishing it back and forth in the sea she would hold it up and tell me what creature it had belonged to. I was impressed with her knowledge of these little things and indeed with the woman herself. For my part I explained that I was in Black Hill Cove visiting with Mr. Hawkins and was a guest at his home. She evinced polite interest in my work as an author but made no inquiry regarding the coincidence of my presence so soon after the attempted burglary. I thought later that it was possible that she had not heard of the incident. Being a woman of colour, Miss Haliai might not have been privy to the local gossip.

After an hour of very pleasurable companionship we ascended to the fields by a different path that placed us closer to Mr. Smythe's home than Livesey House. I was strangely reluctant to part company with Miss Haliai so offered to escort her back to her home.

"T'ank you, Doctor," she said. "But it is onlay a little way to Trelawney House. I um a guest of Mr. Smythe. P'rhaps we shall see each uder again before you return to London."

"I would like that very much," I told her. "Mr. Hawkins has offered to introduce me to Mr. Smythe. We may meet again this afternoon. Until then I wish you a good day."

She smiled with that same twinkle in her eye and gave a slight curtsey before turning up the path to Trelawney House. I stood and watched her walk away for a moment before turning to the narrow path that twisted its way toward Livesey House. I found my mood very light, even whistled a jaunty tune I remembered from my days in the army. I was still in a high mood when I strolled up the steps and into the house depositing my Hat and cane upon the rack by the door. I turned to find my host standing with a raised brow and a quizzical smile on his lips. My whistling trailed off. I felt suddenly self-conscious. Even a little embarrassed.

"I take it that you enjoyed your walk, Doctor," said he with a hint of a smile.

I laughed out loud at myself and went on to describe the nature and origin of my good humour.

"Ah!" Hawkins happily barked. "So you've met the lady. I have only seen her at a great distance. She sounds charming as you describe her. Rumours abound regarding her. Some say that she is a Nubian Princess that Smitty rescued in his younger days. Others say that she was a slave in the house of a corsair and Smitty made off with her. The less charitable claim that the lady is secretly Smitty's wife and that he keeps her secluded in the old coach house. Knowing Smitty it's very possible that all three are correct but I doubt any of them come close to the truth."

We laughed together for a moment and then Hawkins produced a telegram from his pocket.

"This just came for you a few minutes ago," he said handing it over to me. "It's from Mr. Holmes."

_Watson,_

_ Matters in London detain me longer than anticipated. The situation is grave. More at stake than originally thought. Be on your guard. Another attempt may be made. Continue as planned. Look for me to arrive soon._

_ Holmes_

I allowed Hawkins to read the telegram. He handed it back with a concerned frown.

"That sounds worrisome," said he.

"Holmes and I have been in similar situations," I told my host. "We will need to proceed as if all is normal. I would suggest, however, that if you own a revolver you should carry it with you."

Hawkins nodded then excused himself to his study. I retired to my bedroom soon there after. It wasn't until I had washed my face and changed into fresh clothes that it occurred to me that I had not actually accomplished my goal that morning. I had been so taken up in chatting with Miss Haliai that I'd completely forgotten my reason for being there. Holmes, I was certain, would find fault. I resolved, therefore, to be vastly more attentive when speaking with Mr. Smythe.

It was shortly after luncheon that Mr. Hawkins and I set out for Trelawney House by the road. I remembered from Treasure Island that Jim Hawkins had said the way was not far and so he had run by Dodger's stirrup leather. Obviously, to a boy raised in the eighteenth century, distances were not measured the same as by a man accustomed to modern steam trains and city hansom cabs. The current Mr. Hawkins chose to drive the dogcart himself and proved more than up to the task. He handled the bay gelding with a gentle manner that coaxed the animal into a trot without the use of the whip. It was a ten minute drive down the lane and we discussed trivial things to occupy the time. I did learn, though, that Miss Abigail Worth, Mr. Hawkins's fiancée, would join us for dinner that evening.

As we came in sight of Trelawney House I heard the distinct baying of a pack of hounds and the brassy call of a hunting horn in the fields to our left. Ahead of us upon the road was a man mounted upon a fine sorrel hunter. His face was shaded by a broad brimmed hat common in country districts where a man is likely to get more sun than he might want. His hair, which he wore longer than would be considered fashionable, was dark but streaked by the sun. He was of middle height as best I could gage while he sat upon his horse. He wore a grey coat over dark trousers and finely made, if old, hunt boots. He sat his horse in a casually confident and somewhat loose manner. Across the pommel of his saddle rested a double-barreled shotgun. This told me that he was certainly not part of the hunt going on.

"That's Smitty there, Doctor," said my host as we approached.

"Does he often go armed?" I asked casually.

"Whenever there is a hunt afoot." Hawkins nodded.

We were quite close now and I could see Smythe's eyes watching the fields intently. I followed the line of his gaze and perceived another mounted man some hundred yards away on the slope of a low hillock. The man seemed to be staring back at Smythe.

"I wonder who that is," I said aloud.

Hawkins looked to the distant mounted figure.

"That looks like Colonel Martin," Hawkins said. "He's a Frenchman. Came here about four years ago with his wife. They rent a small estate on the far side of the wood. He and Smitty had quite a row shortly after the Martins moved in. It seems that Colonel Martin has a passion for fox hunting. Smitty doesn't allow it on his property. The Colonel and his guests chased a fox right through Smitty's fields despite the notices posted. By all accounts, Smitty nearly shot the man."

"Over fox hunting?" I demanded.

"I think there is a little more to it than that." Hawkins gave me a wry smile. "Mrs. Martin is a very lovely woman."

I understood Hawkins's meaning. He had, after all, told me that Smythe was something of a rascal.

Smythe turned when we were within easy hailing distance. Now that I could see through the shadow of his hat I saw that Smythe wore a light beard and that his eyes were an unusually dark brown. Nearly black. Recognizing my companion Smythe smiled displaying a shocking array of gold teeth.

"Hello, Smitty," Hawkins called out. "Enjoying the hunt, are you?"

"As much as you might think I am, Hawkins." Smythe turned disdainful eyes back onto the field as the riders stormed past in the distance.

"It looks as though they're hot on the quarry," Hawkins observed.

"Who's your friend, Hawkins?" Smythe asked ignoring my host's comment.

Hawkins took this in stride though I felt it slightly rude.

"This is my friend; Doctor John Watson," Hawkins said. "Doctor, this is Mr. Jonathan Smythe."

"'Ow do you do, Doctor?" Smythe said politely gracing me with another of his golden smiles.

"Very well, Mr. Smythe," I returned the greeting. "You do not join the hunt?"

"The hunt?" Smythe smirked. "No, Doctor. My sympathies lay with the fox."

"Is that why you won't let them hunt your land?" Hawkins asked wryly.

"Every fox needs a safe port, eh?" Smythe chuckled. "Keeps the rabbits and mice under control, besides."

"Smitty," Hawkins said in a tone that one uses when changing subjects. "Doctor Watson would like it very much if you would allow him to have a look at the field where our properties adjoin."

"The field?" Smythe looked at me directly. "Why, Doctor?"

"Have you heard the news about the attempt by two men to break into Mr. Hawkins's home while he was in London?" I asked.

"Aye," Smythe said turning in his saddle to face us.

"Well, you see, I have some little experience in such things and thought I might be of some use in finding out where those men might have run to."

"Oh," Smythe scratched at his chin idly. "That was two nights ago, Doctor. Your welcome to look an' I'll take you there meself but I don't know that you'll find anything."

"All the same," I said. "I would be much obliged to you, Mr. Smythe."

"Aye. Well, call me Captain or Smitty, Doctor." Smythe smiled again. "Any friend of Hawkins is welcome at me home. Jus' follow me 'round to the stables and we'll walk out from there, eh?"

Secretly I was pleased to have Smythe escort us out to the field for it would provide an excellent opportunity to assess the man. Smythe turned his mount sharply about casting one more wary look across the road where the baying of the hounds had grown more intense. The look on his face was clearly disapproving. There was something else to his eyes, however. I felt sure that behind the casual, relaxed glint in them was something darker. Perhaps something haunted. He had said his sympathy was for the fox but I wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe he empathized with the animal. Could it be possible, I thought, that Smythe himself had been hunted in his younger days?

We strolled at a leisurely gate through the tall grass. I was struck by two things as we went. The first was the remarkable beauty of the country around Black Hill Cove. It was fairly open country with stone fences and the occasional copse of woods to break it up and give that very English texture to the landscape. The second was the manner in which Mr. Smythe walked. I realized then what our client had meant by his suspicion that Smythe had had too much sun at some point. The man did not quite stagger but he seemed entirely unable to walk in a straight line. He would take a few steps then suddenly spin about to say something to one or the other of us. Often his witticisms went right by me but I did find him to be amusing in an off colour way.

Only one thing seemed out of the ordinary as we traversed the field. We came to a slight depression in the ground where the grass had been pressed down in a wide circle as if some animal had made a bed to lay there. I remarked upon it but Smythe shrugged it off.

"More likely than not, Doctor, it was jus' a man o' the road," said he. "They come through here from time to time, you see?"

"You allow them on your land?" I asked.

"I've known 'ard times in me day," Smythe said seriously. "I 'ad a lot o' years where I 'ad not a farthing to me name, Doctor. These men, they don' hurt nothing. I jus' let 'em be."

Smythe, for all of his peculiarities, struck me as a man tender to those who had less than he.

When we finally came to the boundary of the two properties it was made evident that there was no way to detect where the men had crossed from one field to the next. Though we searched some two-hundred yards of the boundary we came across no sign whatever that anyone had been there before us. I was slightly vexed with myself for I knew that Holmes was relying on me. I knew, too, that if Holmes had been there he surely would have turned up something. In the end I had to admit defeat.

"It was a long shot anyway, Doctor," said Smythe consolingly.

"I suppose so," I replied dejectedly.

"Perhaps we should look at it as having proven that the men did not retreat in this direction," said Mr. Hawkins.

"I don't believe we can say that with certainty, Mr. Hawkins." I'm afraid my mood was not particularly chipper at that point in the investigation. "We can only say that no sign here would indicate that they passed this way."

"Aye," Smythe chimed in. "A negative does not prove a positive. Then again, Doctor, you're no worse off than you were. Will you gents join me in some refreshment? Mayhap we should retire to the Benbow for an afternoon pint? It's on me. What say you?"

The afternoon was growing late and we were expecting Miss Worth for dinner so Mr. Hawkins and I declined the offer of hospitality. We returned to the stables and set out from there for Livesey House in a lower mood than we had started from it that afternoon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

**The Parsonage**

Mr. Hawkins and I returned to Livesey house in time to refresh ourselves with afternoon tea after which I felt in need of some rest before Miss Worth arrived for dinner. Therefore I retired to my bedroom to make notes of my observations of the day and to write a report of my findings for Holmes. Inexplicably I found my mind wandering when I began to write of my encounter with Miss Haliai. After several minutes I decided to set it aside and concentrated instead on my impressions of Mr. Jonathan Smythe. I wrote a very complete account of the afternoon and the little I had been able to discover. I made a point of including what Mr. Hawkins had told me of the relationship between Mr. Smythe and the Frenchman, Colonel Martin. Only after I had finished these notes did I attempt again to record my morning's activities. By sticking to the facts I was able to complete my account in a fairly satisfactory manner.

Miss Abigail Worth proved to be a charming, intelligent and well informed young woman of five and twenty. With sparkling blue eyes , fair complexion and pale blonde hair drawn up in a most becoming style she certainly made a striking yet complimentary contrast to my dark haired and dark complected host. Holmes had been correct in deducing that she was a fashionable woman for she wore the finest of Parisian gowns with a comfortable grace I would hardly have anticipated encountering in so rustic a district as Black Hill Cove. After our introduction Miss Worth made some polite inquiries as to the position Holmes and I had taken regarding the recent events. I told her without great detail where we more or less stood at that moment.

"So you really haven't been able to gain very much so far?" the young lady asked.

"You must remember, Miss Worth," I said reassuringly, "that we have only begun our investigation. Sherlock Holmes is even now conducting inquiries in London. I am here gathering what information I can about the men who attempted to break into Mr. Hawkins's study. There are a number of threads we must pull on to see what is connected to what."

"Well, Doctor," Miss Worth said with a slight smile. "I have read most of your accounts of the cases you and Mr. Holmes have investigated. I suppose I was just getting my hopes up. As I recall, though, several of those cases took many days. The Baskerville case was my favourite."

"I enjoyed The Speckled Band most," Mr. Hawkins put in.

"I thank you both," I said. It is always a pleasure for me to meet people who have enjoyed my writing. "This case, I think, will prove to be very different from either of those."

"But you've already made one connection," Miss Worth said. "The man who stole the compasses surely was the man found murdered."

"Holmes is convinced of it," I said.

Miss Worth looked thoughtful for a moment then asked, "May I make a suggestion, Doctor?"

"By all means," I said with an encouraging smile.

"It's just that it seems to me that your trail of clues is a bit played out," she said with a knitted brow. "Perhaps if you were to drop in at the Admiral Benbow Inn you could learn something of the men. It is possible that they were local men. Even if they were not, our Mr. Biggs is a very observant man. If he had a pair of men come in whom he did not know, I'm sure he would remember them."

"That's a capital idea, Abigail!" Mr. Hawkins slapped the table enthusiastically. "I'd recommend you go 'round a little before supper time. The old Benbow has an excellent cook. It would be a shame, too, if you didn't get 'round to the inn before you returned to London. This will give you a chance to kill two birds with one stone. Another man whom you may want to speak with is the parson."

"Oh yes," Miss Worth agreed. "Parson MacKenzie is ever so observant."

Our conversation trailed along through dinner and strayed back and forth between the subjects of the murder, the burglary and the attempt on Livesey House. After dinner we retired to the sitting room and played cards for several hours. Finally, though, Miss Worth bade us good night and was driven home in her carriage. I in turn bid good night to my host and retired once more to my room.

That night I slept well and rose early the next morning going down intending to take the air in the garden before breakfast. I was surprised to discover Mr. Hawkins sitting soundly asleep in one of the old fashioned wing back chairs in the drawing room outside his study. His terrier rose from his place at his master's feet with the slightest of growls which was made not so very threatening by the wagging of his tail.

"Oh! Doctor," Hawkins said with a yawn. "Is all well?"

"So far as I know, Mr. Hawkins," I replied. "Have you been here all night?"

"I thought it best if some one kept watch," he said and held up a revolver to punctuate his meaning.

"I see," said I. "And your dog kept the watch with you."

"Nothing is likely to escape Roscoe's attention," Hawkins said patting the dog fondly.

I took the air in the garden and after breakfast, not having very much to do, I asked if one of the grooms might drive me into town. As the groom likely had work to tend to at Livesey House I told him that it was my intention to walk back once my business in the village was done. I found the post office and mailed my report to Holmes then spent a little time exploring the old seaside village before turning my steps towards the parsonage and little church which stood not far from the train station. As I came up the road I saw that the parsonage was a neatly tended house with a small garden and a low picket fence. I entered through the gate and found the parson himself picking some rather plump apples from a large tree in the side yard.

"Good morning, sir," said I as I stepped across the lawn. The parson set two apples in his basket and turned an exceedingly gaunt face to me. He was not more than thirty years old yet he had the air of a man who had seen much hardship in so short a time.

"Good mo'nin' to you, sir," he said with a smile that was more in line of a grimace. "Can I he'p you wif anyfing?"

For all that he was neatly dressed as a man of the cloth, Parson MacKenzie's accent did not, in my opinion, correspond with the usual dignity of a clergyman. Almost shockingly so. I explained that I was a guest of Mr. Hawkins and that I merely wished to pay my respects. I had decided upon seeing him that it would be wiser to chat him up and work the conversation around to the points I wanted to cover. As a doctor I have learned a thing or two about speaking to people. Often I have benefited from discussing subjects unrelated to a patient's ailment where by they tell me something vital to the cause of their affliction and so a remedy can be administered. In short order the Parson invited me in for an early cup of tea.

"I understand that you recommended Mr. Cotton to Mr. James Hawkins," I said as the tea was brewing.

"I did," the Parson said. "I 'ad known 'im some years ago when we was bof sailors."

"You were a sailor?" I asked interested. How had a man gone from the sea to a parsonage, I wondered.

"I grew up at sea," Mr. MacKenzie said. "Cotton was an 'elmsman on one o' the ships I sailed on. Tha' was befo' I became intrest'd in the Bible an' such. Befo' I coul' read, even. When I come back to England I was sponsored, you might say, by a good cleric down in Kent. He presided over a country parish in Dymchurch."

"It seems there are many sailors and former sailors in Black Hill Cove," I observed.

"There's a small fishin' fleet what works the wa'ers 'round about and there's a lot o' men what passes frough on their way to Bristol."

"I would think they would be more likely to take the train in this day," said I.

"Beg pardon, Doctor," Mr. MacKenzie smiled shyly, apparently embarrassed at contradicting me. "A sailor ain't the mos' for'ard finkin' man you're likely to meet. Lot of 'em spends their las' farthing on a sip o' rum and then makes their way to their next berf. Shanks ponies don' cost so much as a train ticket."

"So they still do what their brethren did a hundred years ago." It was an off hand remark in the course of conversation but for just a moment I observed a remarkable change of expression on the young man's face. His eyes, or rather his left eye, darted to me as though I had just blasphemed and his lips clinched tight into a straight line. An instant later his features had returned to normal yet I had seen something there. What it was about that remark that had caused such a strange reaction, I could not guess. Even as I had noted his expression I observed small scars on the lid of his right eye. Later I surmised the right must be a glass prosthetic.

We spent the remainder of the hour discussing the weather and the history of the neighbourhood around Black Hill Cove. The parson even invited me to see the old churchyard where the graves of Billy Bones, Blind Pew and Ben Gunn were. He said that people interested in Jim Hawkins's book often stopped in to view them. We strolled about the grounds of the old church and I looked upon the stones of the two infamous pirates and the half mad maroon before bidding the parson good day.

Wishing to scout out the area surrounding the village I decided to take a byroad I had observed on the way in. I was well out of the village on this circuitous route back to Livesey House when a man and woman attired for hunting rode their horses out of a hedge onto the road in front of me. I had not heard their approach and it seemed that they had not remarked my presence until we faced each other. I am not sure which of us was more surprised. The man was tall and dark haired with a narrow Gaulic nose and quick blue eyes. He sat astride a great black hunter. The lady rode a wonderful sorrel mare I thought was a little tall for her. Of her I could only say that she had a trim figure and auburn hair for she wore all black and looked upon me through a dense veil like the ones I had seen on ladies wishing to shield their delicate skin from the harsh sun.

"Your pardon, sir!" the man cried anxiously reining in his mount. I detected a slight French accent. "We did not see you."

"Nor I you, sir" said I. "Are you upon a hunt? I heard no horn nor any hounds."

"A hunt?" the man said with a smile. "Not today. Just out to exercise these two." He indicated the horses. "We left them in the stables yesterday and they seemed eager to stretch their legs."

"So you were with the hunt yesterday," I observed.

"Not with it, sir," the man said still smiling. "We led the hunt! It was a fine one, too. We were on the trail of a very wily fox. It was late in the afternoon before we finally ran him to ground."

"You must be Colonel Martin, then," said I. "And this must be your wife."

"Quite so," the man raised his eyebrows questioningly. "You have the advantage of us, sir."

"Now I must ask your pardon, Colonel," I said stepping forward with my hand out. "I am Doctor John Watson. Mr. Hawkins pointed you out to me when we went to visit Mr. Smythe yesterday."

He had just taken my hand when I said the last and I felt his fingers flinch at the name of his neighbour.

"I am pleased to meet you, Doctor," he said recovering himself quickly. "This is my wife, Elizabeth."

I bowed to the lady and she inclined her head but said nothing. I thought it possible that she spoke no English and took no offence.

"So you visited Mr. Smythe?" the Colonel asked.

"We did." I went on to briefly explain that I was in Black Hill Cove staying at Livesey House for a time and that Hawkins wished to introduce me to his nearest neighbour in the event we crossed paths. I did not wish to divulge any confidences to a man whose standing was not clear to me.

"I see," said he with a look that spoke of slight distaste. "I do not wish to intrude on your affairs, Doctor, but I would suggest you avoid Mr. Smythe."

"Really?" I asked a little surprised that the man would speak so frankly to me a stranger in this district.

"He is a bad sort, sir," Colonel Martin went on. "I think he may be a bit mad and I can assure you that he is no gentleman. He offered insult to my wife soon after we moved into our residence."

So what Hawkins had told me seemed to be true. There was certainly some bad blood between these men and it partly, at least, revolved around the woman before me. I felt that perhaps Colonel Martin should have been more discreet but then he was a foreigner and their ways are not ours. I resolved to keep this bit of news under my hat. Naturally I would tell Holmes but I would not besmirch the lady's reputation in her own community. We bid each other a cordial farewell and I proceeded on along the lane until finally I came to a fork in the road that would lead me back around the little wood towards Livesey House. As I walked this lane I took note of the estate where I presumed Colonel Martin resided. It was a large stone house with a sizable stable close by connected to the main house by a low wall. From the road I could see a number of grooms bustling about tending to the horses and hounds that the Colonel so favoured.

It was a fine day and even with my strange encounter with Colonel Martin I felt my spirits lift as I strolled along. The lane came out onto the coast road opposite the fields of Trelawney House. As I continued along I found my eye straying towards the stately manor in hopes of glimpsing Miss Haliai. Thinking upon her pleasant company I began whistling again. For all my good humour, though, I was momentarily put off by the sight of the grim face of a man peering out one of the windows of the turret. I saw it for only an instant as the man withdrew suddenly upon seeing me. I assumed it must have been one of the servants and so proceeded on to Mr. Hawkins's home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

**The Admiral Benbow Inn**

It was not until Saturday that I ventured out again. I had quite worn myself out with all of my walking and being a city dweller for many years I had lost some of the endurance I had enjoyed in my youth. I had also spelled Mr. Hawkins in keeping watch on Thursday night and felt that Friday could be my day of rest. I sorely wished that Holmes would send some word about his progress with the case or, better still, a day on which we might expect him to join us in Black Hill Cove.

I spent my day Saturday writing yet another report and organizing my notes but that evening found me strolling up the lane to the old Admiral Benbow Inn with its sign board depicting the admiral himself. I stopped a moment and examined the lower edge where I discovered the sabre cut placed there when Billy Bones had chased his former crewman, Black Dog, from the door after their violent meeting. Long ago it had been painted over but I could still see that the cut had chopped a sliver of oak some three inches long from the frame and I had to agree with Jim Hawkins in that the cut would surely have ended Black Dog's misspent life had it not been intercepted by the sign. With a smile of nostalgia upon my lips I pushed open the door to the common room of the inn to discover that I had virtually stepped back in time. Whale oil lamps supplemented the light pouring in through the large front windows. All about the room I observed furnishings and appointments from a bygone day. It was as though nothing had change since the time of the original Jim Hawkins and Captain Billy Bones. There were a few customers already sitting down to their mugs and pots but plenty of space remained for a man to choose freely where he might sit. Unlike most taverns or public houses of the modern day the Admiral Benbow sported no bar, harkening back to a time when drinks were served at table as were the meals.

I settled myself not far from the front windows and continued to look about the room. It really was decorated in a most becoming fashion. A display of sailor's knots was tacked to a plank on one wall and a few paintings were hung about the place. One depicted a rather fanciful scene of a battle taking place at the edge of a great maelstrom. The one that drew my attention most was of the old sea captain, Billy Bones. He was depicted standing upon the rocks overlooking the sea with a spyglass clasped in his hand and his cloak streaming out behind him in a stiff wind. Below the painting was a collection of oddments not unlike the heirlooms so carefully preserved by Mr. James Hawkins. This collection consisted only of a large brass telescope, a battered tricorne hat with one of its cocks drooping down and a large clasp knife. Knowing the tale of Treasure Island as well as I did, it was obvious to me that these must be artefacts left from the time when the old pirate had stayed here.

I was musing on these items when I caught sight of the landlord stepping in from the taproom with a tray of mugs in his hands. He was a burly man in his fifties with side whiskers and an amiable countenance. He walked with the now very familiar rolling stride of a long time sailor and I knew at once that this must be Mr. Biggs. Once he had cheerfully deposited the mugs in front of his customers he came over to my table.

"Good evening, sir," said the landlord. "What can I get for you? A pot o' rum or pint o' beer, perhaps? Or somethin' to eat, maybe? We've a fine cut o' beef or, if you like, there's a good shank o' mutton."

I ordered a pint of stout telling him that I would dine later and the landlord strode off cheerfully to the taproom. Just as he returned with my beer a tall man entered with a sack slung over his shoulder and small duffel in his other hand. He wore a tarred pea jacket and a battered leather wheel cap in the fashion of yet another sailor. He strode into the middle of the room and waited for Mr. Biggs to deposit my mug. With the side whiskers and ruddy complexion it took me a moment to recognize my old companion, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Remembering his warning to pay him no attention until I met him in his own persona I casually turned my eyes back to the paintings.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Mr. Biggs asked the newcomer in his amiable manner.

"A pint would go down fine, sir," replied Holmes in an excellent West Country accent not unlike that of the landlord. "But ye might do me a kindness also."

From the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Biggs cock his head slightly as if waiting to hear a sales pitch but he nodded to indicate that my friend should go on.

"See, sir," Holmes began a little sheepishly. "I've money to pay fer the pint but not much more besides that. Now, I play and sing a little and maybe I could pr'vide a bit o' entertainment fer your customers in exchange fer a meal at the end o' the evening."

Mr. Biggs was apparently a kindly soul for he readily agreed and indicated where Holmes might stow his things until there was more of a crowd. Without looking at me Holmes settled himself by the hearth and stretched his long legs out in the manner of a man weary from the road. From an inner pocket of his pea jacket he drew out a gnarled old briar pipe and a leather pouch. Soon he was sending rings of blue smoke scudding through the air.

A short time later I found an opportune moment to speak with Mr. Biggs as he seemed to have tended to all of his customers. I introduced myself and asked him to sit with me. He was pleased to make my acquaintance and agreed to join me where upon I explained that I had been visiting with my friend Mr. James Hawkins and wanted to hear any tales of the Benbow Inn that the landlord might wish to share.

"Well now, Dr. Watson," he began. "I s'ppose you already know as much o' the tale as is in the book. I can only tell you stories from the last fourteen years, as that's as long as I've owned the Benbow. But there are plenty o' sailors yarns I know."

"Fourteen years?" I said. "That's about the time Mr. Smythe came to Black Hill Cove isn't it?"

"Well, no," Biggs said scratching his side whiskers. "He came two years later I think. A while after Mr. Barber died so suddenly."

"Mr. Barber?" I asked.

"Aye," Biggs went on. "He was the gentleman what owned Trelawney House before Mr. Smythe. Died with no heirs. No family that anyone could find. Sad, that was. Not the most sociable gent, I reckon, but he was a good man in 'is way. Liked to watch the ships passing from the headland near 'is house. Best we could tell was that he stood a little too close to the edge of the rocks and they gave way under 'is feet. 'Twas me and one o' me lads what found 'im. Oh, it was awful."

"So you found the man," I said. "Were you on the beach when the accident occurred?"

"No," Biggs shook his head. "We were out early to hunt rabbits. Hare stew is one of my cooks specialties. Mr. Barber must have fallen sometime the night before. We noticed that the rocks were different and went over just to have a look. Never expected to find what we did. I stayed with 'im and sent me lad off to fetch the constable. After the inquest there was the funeral and odd as it might seem for such a man as 'im most everyone in the village turned out. He'd done a lot of work that no one knew about, it seems."

"What sort of work?" I was curious to learn whether this Mr. Barber's death might have been engineered. With the queer goings on around Black Hill Cove I thought it just possible.

"Seems he made some contributions to the church and to some of the poorer families in the district. Even gave the parson that fine apple tree planted in the parsonage's yard. Partial to apples, was our Mr. Barber. There's quite an orchard behind the old manor that he planted," Biggs said. "He owned six of the fishing boats that sail out from the docks. When he died he left them to the captains and they're none the poorer for the inheritance. Why Mr. Lee over there has made good on 'is in that he bought three more from the profits." Biggs indicated a short, grizzled, truculent looking bald man at a table in the corner.

Customers began arriving soon after that and Mr. Biggs excused himself to see to their needs before I could get any more out of him. He returned a few minutes later and took my order for the mutton before stepping over to Holmes and asking him if he were up to playing. Holmes gave him a smile and a nod then reached into the sack at his side. I was expecting to see his violin but he drew out a rather seedy looking mandolin. Giving it a few strums to tune it he crossed the room where there was a clear space around a chair beneath the painting of Billy Bones. Holmes played a few songs and sang surprisingly well keeping in character the whole while. I was partaking of the very fine mutton and potatoes and Holmes was just starting in on a new tune when Mr. Smythe swaggered into the room. Biggs greeted the man with a familiar air and was just waving him to what I assumed must have been his usual table when Smythe caught sight of me.

"Halloa, Doctor!" Smythe greeted me heartily. "A pleasant surprise, this is. Any luck with the investigation?"

"I'm sorry to say that there are no new developments," said I.

"Ah. Well tha's too bad. Can I join you, Doctor?" He was already pulling out a chair and I did not object.

"Will you be dining t'night, Cap'in?" Biggs asked with what I took to be a knowing glint in his eyes.

"I'll 'ave me usual, Mr. Biggs," Smythe said with a vague wave of his hand. "Who's the musician?"

"Oh," said Biggs. "Just a seaman on 'is way to Bristol. Playin' fer 'is supper, he is."

"Well give 'im a pint o' rum on me and refill the Doctor's mug while yer at it."

I made to protest but Mr. Smythe insisted and I must admit that the prospect of another pint of the excellent stout appealed to me. I foresaw the possibility that I might get a little information out of the gregarious Mr. Smythe if I indulged his whim. Biggs reappeared a few minutes later with a mug laden tray. He deposited one mug on the floor next to Holmes's chair and proceeded to my table. Mr. Smythe raised his mug in a sort of salute to Holmes who nodded in return.

"'E's good," Smythe remarked indicating Holmes and flashing me his golden smile. "So how have you been, Doctor? Learned anything interesting?"

"Interesting?" I said with the intent to buy a little time to collect my thoughts. I had not expected Smythe to begin asking me questions. Rather the reverse. "Not very much, actually. I met the parson. He seems a good fellow, though, a bit unusual for a clergyman."

"Aye!" Smythe agreed with a chuckle. "He an' I have had a few yarns. He was a sailor for quite some time before he gave it up. Sailed some o' the same waters as me."

"So you have sailed around South America?" I asked.

"South America, the Caribbean, the Pacific, the Mediterranean," Smythe took a deep draft of his rum. I could smell the strong liquor from across the table even with my meal before me. "I've seen the Orient and the Horn of Africa, Doctor. Sailed right off the edge of the map and came back."

I could see that Hawkins had been right about Smythe's storytelling. I did not wish to be regaled with tall tales so I introduced a subject I was sure would provoke some reaction.

"I also met Colonel Martin," I said. Smythe's face dropped into a carefully neutral smile.

"Did you?" he asked tonelessly.

"He and his wife were out exercising a pair of horses," I told him.

"So you met his wife, too?" Smythe's expression softened a touch before he went on. "Lovely woman. Fine singing voice."

"She sings?" I asked with mild interest.

"Aye. She does," Smythe paused for a drink of his rum. I thought that he might leave it at that but as soon as he had set his mug down he went on. "I came across her on the coast road one day. I had heard that there were new tenants in the manor but hadn't met 'em yet. Heard her singing while I was out looking about me property. Gave her a compliment. Never saw him till he popped out of a hedge on that black horse o' his. Said I'd given offence. Said I'd insulted his woman. Got so riled I thought I was going to have to shoot him."

"What sort of compliment could possibly have caused him to react in that fashion?" I asked.

"Bloody peculiar, I thought," Smythe said. "I told her that she had the voice of an angel and that I was surprised she could sing so well with her bodice cinched so tight. Now I ask you, Doctor, what's wrong with that?"

I blinked at him too stunned to voice any answer. Finally, I made a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

"Aye." Smythe seemed satisfied and took another deep draught of his rum.

"Now 'ere's one what was taught to me by an old seaman out of Batavia." Holmes's voice rang out clearly over the soft conversations around the room. All of the patrons including Mr. Smythe and myself glanced his way as he strummed the first chord. As Smythe was between Holmes and me I witnessed something unlooked for. Upon the second bar of the tune Smythe froze in place. There seemed to be a quiver in all his muscles for just a moment. It was as if the notes from Holmes's mandolin had pierced him through the heart. Holmes began to sing a gentle little tune.

"The King and his men

Stole the queen from her bed

And bound her in her bones.

The seas be ours

and by the powers

where we will we'll roam."

"Everybody now!" Holmes called out lustily. And a number of the seafaring men in the room sang out an apparently well-known chorus.

"Yo, ho, haul together,

hoist the colours high.

Heave ho, thieves and beggars,

never shall we die."

After the chorus Smythe seemed to catch his breath and turned back to me in as nonchalant a manner as he could manage. He smiled cagily at me as though he were enjoying the music. However I could not help but notice the dramatic effect the old song had had upon him. His eyes drifted over my shoulder. I pretended to be paying attention to Holmes as he played but at the edge of my vision I noted his meaningful look cast to some one behind me. To my further surprise, Mr. Biggs entered the room wearing what I can only describe as a concerned frown upon his heretofore pleasant countenance. He glanced surreptitiously to Mr. Smythe who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. All this time Holmes had continued to play and the crowd had joined in ever stronger with the chorus. Had it not been for the looks passing between Smythe and the others I should have thought it was quite the jolly old time. As it was, though, I had all I could do to not give myself away by demanding to know what had disturbed my companion.

While I sat wondering what to do next I looked to Holmes as he came to the end of the song. His eyes met mine and then slid to the door. I took his meaning. I was to make my excuses and leave. Before Holmes had begun his next song I finished my meal and signalled to the landlord that I wished to settle my bill. I made my excuses to Mr. Smythe, thanked Mr. Biggs and left the Benbow feeling far less at ease than I had upon my arrival. I could only console myself with the assurance that Holmes was finally in Black Hill Cove and would soon make all plain to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

**Mr. Sherlock Holmes**

I did not tell my host what had occurred at the inn though he pressed me for some details. I instead informed him that I knew for certain that Holmes would be arriving soon. Of course I could not tell him how I knew this nor could I tell him with any surety when Holmes would arrive. Mr. Hawkins was naturally not very satisfied. To his credit he pressed me no further, resigning himself to wait for developments.

The next day I organized my notes of the previous evening being doubly sure to include my observations of Mr. Smythe. I was still puzzled as to the reason the song had had such an impact with Smythe and Biggs. I reasoned that Holmes must have played it in order to evoke some reaction in the patrons of the Benbow. What lay beyond that I could not even guess. These waters were running too deep for me to fathom.

I refused to fritter my day away in idle conjecture, though. Instead, with my host's permission, I perused his private collection of books, hoping to find one that might make some reference to the song. There were several that were interesting and a few that looked promising. 'In Pursuit of Pirates: Tactics and Stratagems of Single Ship Combat Against Irregular Forces' was written by a Commander Groves who had been a naval officer during the reign of King George II and had served mostly in the West Indies. The book was disappointing, however. It would have been technically useful had I been wanting to write a tale of sea battles but it was very dry and dealt only with combat at sea and how to manage various classes of ships. Groves had written detailed accounts of some of the engagements he had participated in but there were no references to any of the songs I had hoped it might contain. There was another book written by a Dr. M. Gray that I thought might be of some interest to me in a professional sense but it turned out to be a sort of diary and I discovered that the initial M. stood for Madeline. A woman doctor. Rare even in our modern age I could not imagine how any woman during the reign of George II could rise to such a station. I returned the book to the shelf. Finally I pulled down a fat tome from the top shelf. It had no title on the spine and I had selected it only because I was running out of options. The title on the inner fly was ' Sailor's songs and Shanties from the Seven Seas'. It proved to be filled with songs of the sea dating back some two hundred years. The songs were arranged according more or less to the time at which they had been composed. There was no index of the contents so I spent the better part of an hour randomly paging through it and was ready to give up when, as I was lighting my pipe, the book slipped off the arm of the chair and fell open to the first chapter. There at my feet lay the song Holmes had performed: Hoist the Colours. I read through it carefully. I must confess that it sounded like nothing more than a nonsense rhyme. Had I not witnessed the reaction of Smythe and Biggs I would have disregarded it entirely. Instead, I placed one of my calling cards to mark the page.

Miss Worth again joined us for dinner and we had settled down in the parlour afterwards to while away the rest of the evening with cards when there came a jangle from the bell at the front door. A moment later the head butler entered the parlour with a card on a silver tray. Hawkins took it and after a glance he sprang to his feet and strode quickly into the hall followed by the faithful Roscoe.

"Mr. Holmes!" we heard him cry in greeting. Miss Worth and I both rose in anticipation of my old friend's entrance.

Our client returned with Holmes sans disguise. Hawkins made the introductions between Holmes and the young lady and then Holmes turned to me with a smile.

"So very good to see you again, Watson," he said shaking my hand warmly. "I have learned much in the past week. Enough so that I was concerned for you."

"Well that sounds grim, Mr. Holmes," Hawkins said ushering my friend to one of the wing backed chairs. "Brandy? Something to eat perhaps?"

"I will be content with brandy and with your permission and if Miss Worth does not mind a pipe," Holmes replied.

"Do not refrain on my account, Mr. Holmes," Miss Worth said obligingly. "It will be quite a treat for me to see you smoke. I have already told Dr. Watson that I have read many of his records of your exploits. To see you here and smoking your pipe will add to the flavour of his words when next I read them."

"You are quite gracious, miss," said Holmes pulling out his pipe and tobacco. Mr. Hawkins set a snifter at his elbow and then resumed his seat next to his fiancée. After Holmes had a coal glowing and smoke drifting through the air he settled back slightly and gave a keen look to our client. "As I have said, Mr. Hawkins, I have learned much in this past week. Without intending to be rude I must ask if you wish Miss Worth to be privy to this information?"

"My fiancée knows as much about the case as I do at this point," Hawkins said. "I see no reason to exclude her now."

"Then I shall begin." Holmes drew on his pipe once more. "As I stated in my telegram to Dr. Watson matters are grave and there is much more at stake than I originally believed. I have not yet solved the case but I know now who is behind the burglaries."

"You know the man's name?" demanded our client urgently.

"I know his name and I know what organisation he is part of," said Holmes. "Guillaume Smets, a Belgian by birth, is well known among the espionage agencies of Europe. He is also well known among the fringe elements of scholarly explorers and researchers across the globe. A man of resource and intelligence he has a passion for mythic places and legends of times past. This interest was fuelled when he met Heinrich Schlieman some twenty years ago. He has since published monographs on subjects such as the Knights Templar treasure, the Holy Grail, the lost city of el Dorado, the Fountain of Youth, even one on an obscure statue known as the Maltese Falcon. He has hunted for the Elephant's Graveyard in the Congo and Noah's Ark."

"He sounds like a mad man," Hawkins scoffed.

"There is a fine line between madness and passion," Holmes said with relish puffing out a great cloud of blue smoke. "Unfortunately, Smets's passion has more to do with money and power than it does with genuine research and exploration. I discovered that his last scholarly endeavour revolved around the _Isla de Muerta_."

"_Isla de Muerta?"_ asked Miss Worth. "Island of Death? What could anyone want with such a horrid sounding place? Does it exist, even?"

"It did," I said without thinking. All eyes turned on me in surprise. Even Holmes's. "At least a Commander Groves said it did. He described a ship action there. It was a brief entry and did not go into detail but he seemed to know what he was writing."

"Watson," Holmes said with rare awe in his voice. "You do excel yourself this evening."

You can only imagine the pleasure those words stirred in me. To hear them spoken in such a tone by the man whom I considered to be the greatest of detectives and the possessor of the finest analytical mind was as much as I had hoped for in all my days.

"The Doctor is quite right, Miss Worth," Holmes took up his tale again. "The island did exist. It no longer does. The sea swallowed it more than a hundred years ago. A chief among pirates known as Hector Barbossa once used it to store a hoard of gold and treasure. He raided ships and ports around the Caribbean Sea for nearly ten years depositing his ill gotten gains on an island uncharted. He met his end at the hands of another pirate called Sparrow. Some tales say that they were friends. Some say that Barbossa was not killed and he later rescued Sparrow from a fate worse than death."

"You seem to have done quite a lot of research in a very short time, Mr. Holmes," said our client.

"I owe much of this information to your fine library and it's curator, Professor Wadsworth," Holmes said graciously. "He and his assistant, Miss Saldana, slaved on your behalf. They condensed a great deal of information for me."

"I see," said Mr. Hawkins. "What do these pirates and their treasure have to do with my compasses being stolen? Is it that Skeleton Island is thought to have been the _Isla de Muerta_?"

"I believe that it was Smets's research into this treasure that led him to what might be called a delusional conclusion." Holmes paused meaningfully. "He discovered a legend that has been submerged in the culture of the sea as deeply as the _Isla de Muerta _was in the sea itself. Have you ever heard of the Brethren Court of pirates, Mr. Hawkins?"

"The Brethren Court?" Hawkins was silent for a moment in thought. "Yes. Long ago. I was only a lad at the time. My grandfather mentioned it when he spoke of old Ben Gunn once. Gunn had told him some tale or other that my grandfather only half remembered. Supposedly there was a parliament of pirate kings who ruled over various stretches of the ocean. They established the Brethren Court to govern the disputes of pirates and wrote some sort of manifesto to provide rules of etiquette when dealing with other pirates. It sounded plausible but a bit far fetched."

"The Pirate Code written down by Morgan and Brtholomew existed," Holmes said. "So did the Brethren Court. I discovered four direct references to it in your library. It was a secret society as potent and formidable as any government of its day. In time of crisis the Court would elect a king from among the Pirate Lords to lead them. There were only four meetings of the full Court. The last meeting was just prior to a major fleet engagement against the East India Trading Company. Elected to lead the Court was the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea. A woman named Elizabeth Swann became king of the Brethren Court."

"You mean a queen, surely, Mr. Holmes," said Miss Worth. Mr. Hawkins and I were stunned into silence and Holmes did not miss this.

"King Elizabeth," Hawkins breathed.

"Queen, darling," Miss Worth corrected him. "You can't have a female king. It's too silly."

The young woman looked to each of us with our grave expressions. Her surety began to falter and crumbled into confusion.

"King Elizabeth lead the Brethren Court of pirates triumphantly against the best fleet the East India Company could muster," Holmes went on to describe a great battle that took place in a maelstrom. Instantly to my mind came the painting now adorning the wall of the Admiral Benbow Inn. He spoke of legends and stories surrounding the events leading up to the battle and of plots among the Pirate Lords. And finally he told of how one Pirate Lord had gambled everything on freeing a sea goddess so that she might unleash her wrath on the enemies of the Brethren Court.

"Mr. Holmes," our client began but Holmes raised a finger in silent appeal for patience. Hawkins subsided.

"I am not trying to fill your head full of fancies, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said. "I am telling you these details because they will help make my theory more clear. According to some accounts Calypso had been imprisoned in the body of a woman. In that form she could not rule over the seas and strike out at the pirates who sailed them. The Brethren Court had broken the seas to their will. Each member of the Court carried on his person what were known as Pieces of Eight. There are a variety of descriptions of these emblems so I truly have no idea what they looked like. With these Pieces of Eight the Court could release Calypso if they chose. In desperation Captain Hector Barbossa, the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, did release her in order that she might destroy the East India Company's fleet. Thus the maelstrom is accounted for. Filtering out the fanciful to glean the facts, such as they are, what I believe happened was that two ships did engage in combat like champions of old. The pirates bested the Company's ship and took her in a boarding action. Once the pirates had control of both vessels they turned on the flagship of the Company under command of one Lord Cutler Beckett. The flagship was the HMS Endeavour and she did indeed exist as did Beckett. The Endeavour was destroyed with a great loss of life including Beckett himself. With the loss of the flagship the Company's fleet retreated leaving the pirates victorious."

"Very well and good, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Hawkins. "But what does all of that have to do with the burglary and the murder and this Belgian you spoke of?"

"After the battle there was a great upheaval in the Brethren Court," Holmes continued his tale. "King Elizabeth did not remain among the pirates for very long. She retired herself to a quiet life in the West Indies where she raised a son. The Court held itself together but there was much conflict. Now that the symbols of the Pirate Lords were destroyed there were several pirates who attempted to insert themselves into the ranks of the Court without proving themselves to be the Lords of whatever territory they were trying to claim. Other pirates rebelled against the Court and some even attempted to bind the sea goddess to their will in the same manner that the first Court had. One of the ring leaders of this attempt was Captain Joshua Flint."

"The same Captain Flint from Treasure Island?" demanded Miss Worth.

"The same," confirmed Holmes. "Flint, Bones, England, Hook, Roberts, Davis, and 'Long' John Silver were all in on the attempt to establish a new Brethren Court. It is my belief that the compass with the initials L.J.S. stamped on them were to be Silver's Piece of Eight."

"So this Smets had them stolen?" Hawkins asked with his brows furrowed.

"I am not yet certain but I think he believes that the legend of binding Calypso to the will of mortals is not some fairy tale." Holmes re-lit his pipe. "Smets some years ago became involved with the Carbonari. You are of course familiar with their activities."

I was trying to follow the jump from pirates to this group of anarchists who had made war on civilized nations and even the Vatican. The Carbonari were so called for they were originally made up of charcoal burners in the same manner that the Masons were originally composed of stone cutters. They had been repeatedly put down but like a cancer they always seemed to grow again to cause trouble and rally for radical changes in government. They wished to throw down the royal houses of Europe and to throw off what they viewed as unjust governmental control. If they had their way the Carbonari would do away with the rule of law and the moral compass of religion. And that was when I remembered the tattoo on the arm of the murdered man.

"Yes, Watson," Holmes said as though he had read my thoughts. "Smets, according to Mycroft, has been climbing through the ranks of the Carbonari for the past several years. Last year he was slapped down for some reason or other that the best agents have not yet discovered. Smets dropped off the map for a time but did not go away. He recruited a loyal core of men to help him. They took on a new slogan and created a symbol for their particular branch of the Carbonari."

"The skull with the crossed brand and rose," I said remembering the description Holmes had given me.

"Just so." Holmes nodded. "The burning brand represents the Carbonari. This is crossed over top by a rose. The symbol of secrecy. These are both above the skull which represents man or mortality."

"This is lunacy!" barked Hawkins. "This man surely can not believe the story of binding a heathen goddess to the will of men. What good would it do him even if it were true?"

"It would give him control of the seas," Holmes said placidly.

England is an island nation and our greatest strength has always been our fleet. I could well imagine how devastating it would be for the Crown if suddenly our ships were rendered useless. Many other nations would suffer as greatly if their ports were shut down. Never mind the European powers the ports in such countries as the United States, Mexico, China and even Russia were of vital importance to bring their huge populations the goods they wanted and to ship off the goods they had to trade. Any man who could command the sea would be able to gain as much wealth and power as he wanted.

"So you believe he is mad," I said.

"Mad." Holmes nodded again closing his eyes solemnly. "And that makes him all the more dangerous. Smets is cunning. He is resourceful. And he believes he knows where the rest of the Pieces of Eight are."

Hawkins looked over his shoulder to the door of his private study.

"I would very much like to examine those heirlooms of yours, Mr. Hawkins," said Holmes.

* * *

**A.N.** Doctor Madeline Gray is not a character of my creation nor is she a canon character. Rather she belongs to my friend Nytd who was kind enough to loan her to me for this story as she has done once before. Thank you Nytd.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X:**

**Pieces of Eight**

The contents of the glass cases in Mr. Hawkins's study were carefully placed on his large oaken desk. Holmes scrutinised each object in turn. He made no comment as he did this and took his time setting aside certain articles and handing others back to Mr. Hawkins apparently discarding them as lacking importance.

The items Holmes had set aside when he had finished this close inspection were the piece of bar silver now nearly black with age, the tin canikin much dented and scuffed, the quadrant of a fine quality, the old Spanish watch very finely etched, and the five West Indian shells. Holmes had examined each of these with more care than the others and set one apart from the other four. He was soon to explain why.

"As I suspected, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes began. "Each of these items is marked with some form of initial. These four shells bear markings that I am unclear on but the fifth, which is plainly different than the others, is scratched with the initials J.H. I am sure those are for Captain James Hook."

"Hook? 'There was some that was feared of Pew, and some that was feared of Flint; but Flint his own self was feared of [Silver].'" Hawkins quoted. "And the only man Silver feared was Hook."

"Not entirely true but near enough," Holmes replied.

"Near enough, Mr. Holmes?" inquired Miss Worth.

"Certain information Professor Wadsworth found indicates that Hook was not the only man Silver feared. Though they have not been as popularised as the other pirates mentioned in literature they were very well known to the navies of the time," Holmes told her. "There was Captain Jack Sparrow who actually killed Hook when Hook attempted to oust him as Pirate Lord of the Caribbean. Silver ran afoul of Captain Hector Barbossa while serving aboard the Walrus under Flint. By all accounts, save their own, it was a near run thing. The Walrus escaped only because she was able to slip into a fog bank in shoal waters. She sank soon there after outside Savannah. Barbossa had gone after the Walrus to settle some dispute with Flint and it was his broadside that had taken Silver's leg and Pew's eyes. Some say that it was fear of Barbossa that caused Flint to drink himself to death. Others indicate that Barbossa arranged for poison to be introduced into his rum. This is supported by the blue complexion noted in Treasure Island. And not the least fearsome of the pirates was Captain Teague, known as the Keeper of the Code. Fearsome, ruthless and deadly was Captain Teague."

"So if these are all Pieces of Eight," Hawkins mused. "Then where are the other three?"

"The other four," Holmes corrected. "There were nine Pirate Lords, sir. We now know that the compasses were stolen in the belief that one pair was Silver's Piece of Eight. That makes a total of five. But your question is a good one. What other items could have been Pieces of Eight? I have no answer for it."

"Is it possible, Holmes, that not all of the would-be Pirate Lords had contributed to the cache Billy Bones carried?" I asked.

"It is as good an answer as any I can think of, Doctor," Holmes said. "Note also that Captain Bones's Piece of Eight is not present here. The quadrant was Flint's. The canikan belonged to Captain England. This bar of silver was Captain Roberts's. What other items was Bones carrying? Had he selected his token before the death of Flint? There is no way to know at this point. But in the end I think it is less important to find all nine Pieces of Eight than it is to find Smets."

"Now that we have a name it should be easier," Hawkins asserted.

"With all of his resources my brother Mycroft was unable to track him down." Holmes shook his head.

"What do you propose then, Mr. Holmes?" Miss Worth asked.

"That we allow Smets to think our guard is down," said Holmes with a glint in his eye. "This is more of a waiting game than I would like but when hunting tigers one must make sure of one's ground. In two days Watson and I shall return to London on the pretence that we are seeking clues there. We will return that same evening and secret ourselves here. I have already arranged with my brother to have false telegrams sent here to simulate progress reports. Our presence must remain unknown even to your servants for we can not know who Smets's agents might be. I feel very sure that once Smets believes we have departed the scene he will strike again within a matter of days."

"Smets sent agents the last time, Mr. Holmes," Hawkins said.

"He is likely to do so again," Holmes said. "We shall follow unobtrusively wherever they might go. We will follow them back to their master. And once we have him in our sights, he is doomed."

"You believe Smets to be close by?" Hawkins asked.

"I do."

"The name Smets sounds similar to Smythe, I think," Hawkins said with a grim look. I had been thinking much the same since Holmes mentioned King Elizabeth.

"I agree," Holmes said. "I spoke with Smythe last evening. He is charming and colourful. His accent is a mish-mash of accents. I believe it is actually an affectation to cover the one native to him. I also noticed what I took to be a burn mark on his right wrist. I was not able to get a close look at it for he shielded it from me when he noticed my glance. I thought I had been discrete but Smythe is undoubtedly an old hand at observation."

"We should just go right over there and confront him." I noticed that our good natured host had turned quite red in the face and his voice sounded wrathful.

"Confront him with what, Mr. Hawkins?" Holmes asked in a soothing voice. "He has not acted openly against you. In fact, he may be no more than he appears. His yacht's name might only be a joke as you had thought. Or it might be that he did name it after this Pirate King and yet be not at all involved in the burglary or the murder. No. We must set a trap for Smets. Smythe might be merely an eccentric."

I stepped over to where I had set the book of sailor's songs earlier and deposited it in front of Holmes open to the page I had marked. I then asked, "What do you make of the song you played and what of the reaction to it by Smythe and Biggs?"

"The song is very old, Watson," Holmes said as he ran his finger down the printed page. "It was once used to call the members of the Brethren Court together without the authorities knowing what it meant. Miss Saldana pointed out how it followed the tale of the binding of Calypso."

"Mr. Holmes," Miss Worth interrupted in a deferential tone. "I just want to be clear on one thing. You do not believe that Calypso was somehow subjugated to the will of this Brethren Court, do you?"

"Certainly not," said Holmes rather stiffly. "My theory, as I have said, is that Smets believes it. Further more, Miss Worth, I believe he is going to attempt the same ritual that the Court is said to have conducted. That is why he is seeking the pieces of eight. I imagine he plans to appoint himself king of the sea with eight of his cronies as the other sea lords. I doubt we shall be able to convict him of anything so absurd as the practice of black magic but he certainly has set out to commit theft. He may even be convicted of murder. After all, we still do not know who it was that ambushed the man at Saint James Church. He may have done so in order to eliminate a link to himself."

"And Smythe's reaction to the song, Holmes?" I persisted.

"Singular." Holmes scratched his chin. "I do not know for certain but I see two likelihoods. One: Smythe is Smets and Biggs is one of his men. They reacted in that fashion because they know the song and were taken off their guard when I played it. Two: Smythe and Biggs are superstitious. They are both old seamen. The playing of that song yet has power and meaning in their community. Again, they were taken off guard but for no guilty reason. A reaction similar to what churchmen might have when hearing blasphemy. It is evidence but inconclusive."

"What of Smythe's ongoing feud with Colonel Martin?" I asked.

"Smets is known to be a bit of a prickly character." Holmes paused to think before he went on. "This Colonel Martin is a Frenchman. He might be more readily able to hear the false note in Smythe's accent. That question must be put aside as it needs a good deal more data before we can determine if there is anything to it, Watson. Do not allow it to distract you from our goal."

I believe Holmes meant to continue his exploration of the clues we had uncovered but at that moment there came what I can only describe as a desperate ringing of the front bell. We all rose and passed through the parlour to the main hall. We arrived just as the steward opened the front door and a frantic woman pushed through to cling to him.

"Help!" she cried desperately. "They've killed 'im! I heard a shot! They've done murder. I know it!"

Holmes was first down the hall and relieved the steward of his burden. Hawkins immediately ordered the steward to lock all of the doors and to rouse all of the male servants. In the mean time we had taken the distraught woman back into the parlour and deposited her in one of the wing back chairs. I was examining her for injuries while Miss Worth quickly brought a glass of brandy and coaxed her to drink a bit of it. I found no injuries but took note that the woman had evidently departed wherever it was that murder had been done in a great hurry. She was clad only in a night shift and shawl. She had left in such a rush that she had not even slipped on a pair of shoes.

"Oh, Mr. Hawkins! 'E told me to go to Mr. Smythe's house," she said as Hawkins entered. "But you were closer and I knew you 'ad guns. They've killed 'im, sir!"

Hawkins knelt by her side and asked with great concern, "Do you mean they've killed Mr. Biggs, Charlotte?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded and began to weep. "'E come into my room, sir, and woke me. 'E said that there were men about outside and that 'e thought they meant trouble. Mr. Biggs was scared but 'e wasn't going to let them 'ave their own way. 'E told me that 'e was going to distract them and that I should slip out my window and run as fast I could to Mr. Smythe's 'ouse. 'E went back into the common room and called them a load of cowards and murderers and a lot of other things. I never knew 'e spoke Spanish. Well they must 'ave broken down the door 'cause I heard a great crash. Then they started fighting and shouting. I could hear furniture breaking and glass shattering. Oh, it was an awful row! I slipped out my window and ran. I ran as fast as I could but before I got out of sight of the inn, sir, I heard a shot. I know they killed 'im! 'E saved my life, Mr. Hawkins. You 'ave to do something!"

We three men stepped aside to confer leaving Miss Worth to tend to Charlotte.

"What do you think, Mr. Holmes?" Hawkins asked sotto voce.

"The woman is clearly distressed," Holmes said. "However, this could still be a ruse."

"A ruse?" Hawkins said disbelievingly. "Biggs told the woman to go to Smythe's house."

"Yes. Consider, though, that even if she is not intentionally deceiving us she may still be a tool of deception. They might have assumed that she would stop here first. Even if she obeyed Biggs's instruction to go to Trelawney House it would be logical for him to stop here and collect additional help. Either way we would be drawn away from the artefacts."

"Holmes," I said sternly. "We can not stand idly by while murder is done. At the least, we can see to it that the men who did this are punished for their crime."

"Of course, Watson!" Holmes snapped. I, who knew him so well, could see that he was rapidly working through the problem before us. "Mr. Hawkins, arm all of your male servants. Send the maids and all of the women away to a safe place. I recommend, also, that Miss Worth return to her home. If there is to be violence here tonight they should all be elsewhere."

For the next few minutes the whole of the house was in uproar. The women were ushered out of a side door to take a path through the fields to the nearest farm. Charlotte had been give a pair of shoes and a coat and then entrusted to the care of a matronly chambermaid who carried a poker as though she were one of the Queen's grenadiers. Hawkins emptied his gun cabinet and armed no less than twelve of his butlers, grounds keepers, grooms and a handyman. It heartened me to see old Mr. Cotton take a shotgun in both hands and give me a grim smile. He, if any of them, would not fail his master.

We deposited Miss Worth in her carriage. Mr. Hawkins placed the faithful Roscoe upon her lap and instructed her to call the constabulary the instant she was home. While they said a hurried goodbye Holmes spoke to her driver.

"Do you know how to use one of these?" he asked the man handing him his revolver.

"Aye, sir," said the driver taking it. "Pull the hammer back. Point it. Pull the trigger."

"Guard the lady well," Holmes admonished him. The driver nodded.

As the carriage pulled away horses were brought up to us and we mounted. I was uneasy about what we might find at the inn but having met Biggs I felt compelled to see what lay there. Into the night we rode going across fields and through shallow streams until we came in sight of the lonely inn by the seashore.

Holmes made us dismount well away from the Benbow and after hobbling our horses we crept softly through the night. As we neared the inn it became painfully obvious that if there was a deception here it had been done at the cost of at least one life. I spied in the light cast from the shattered front window the still form of a man lying in the remains of the pane with a glistening pool of red spreading around him. We slipped silently forward to where the man lay. While Holmes and Hawkins kept alert for foul play I bent to examine him. A sever wound had been dealt to his head and I could see his neck had been broken. Shards of glass had pierced his belly. The man was stone dead. We looked in through the window to discover the common room in a state of smash the like of which I can only assume it had not seen since the pirates under command of Blind Pew had visited it so many years ago. There were two more bodies in evidence so we went in through the broken main door.

The first body was that of a stranger to me. Two deep stab wounds had punctured his abdomen. Clearly he had bled out. The second body was that of Mr. Biggs. There was evidence of numerous cuts and gashes. The fatal wound had been dealt by a pistol round to the heart. I felt ill at the thought of this brave man having been murder in such a cowardly fashion. Mr. Hawkins looked pale. I believe that this was the first dead man our client had ever seen.

"Watson," Holmes called softly from nearby the display of oddments on the wall. "I should have guessed this."

I looked to where he pointed. The hat and the telescope remained in their places but the clasp knife had been removed. I looked to Holmes for explanation.

"The sixth piece of eight, Watson," he told me. "Bones would not have left his in with the others. It was, after all, the symbol of his station."

"It appears that Mr. Biggs was not a member of the Carbonari," Hawkins observed.

"It's unlikely," Holmes agreed. Then he cocked his head as though listening. I strained my ears but could hear nothing.

"What is it, Holmes?" I asked.

"Gun shots," Holmes said. "My pistol, I believe."

Without a word Hawkins sprang for the door. Holmes and I were hard on his heels. We found our horses cropping the grass where we had left them and were quickly mounted. We stormed across the fields under the light of the moon like wraiths through drifting mists. Our horses were game for the run and we soon had found the coast road. On this even surface our mounts were able to make even greater speed. Down the coast road we thundered through the night until we had passed Livesey House with all of its lanterns lit and then past Trelawney House shut up for the night. Like hawks before a gale we flew. None of us spoke or called. We all knew that time was not to be wasted. Soon we discerned the shape of Miss Worth's carriage and laying next to it was the body of the driver sprawled in the road.

Hawkins reined in next to the carriage and leapt from his horse before Holmes and I had even brought our mounts to a full stop. He gave an anguished cry that rang eerily over the misty fields. I was at his side in an instant. There was no sign of the young lady. On the seat lay her hand bag and on the floor of the carriage lay poor little Roscoe. He lay crumpled with his lips still pealed back in a snarl meant for a beast many times his size. A bit of dark cloth was still clinched in his bright teeth. His bravery, like that of Mr. Biggs, had been for naught. It had only earned him a broken neck. Leaving Hawkins to his grief and distress for the moment I rushed on to the fallen driver. Holmes had taken one of the lanterns from the front of the carriage and now shone it on the man. He was dead. A bullet had pierced his stomach and another had struck him in the head. The evidence of his struggle was written on his knuckles and in the dirt of the road.

Holmes shone the lantern's light all around examining the scene as best he could. There appeared to have been several men laying in wait for the carriage. Holmes said they had sprung from the roadside ditch. He found a trail of blood that vanished into the grass of the fields. It did not take an eye as skilled as Holmes's to detect the path they had taken. The grass was torn and pressed down in their wake. The trail lead out into the fields in the direction of the shore and back towards Trelawney House.

"I'll kill him," growled Hawkins in so menacing a voice I found myself drawing back.

"Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said evenly. "Calm yourself. I understand the emotion you feel now. You must remain in control. Hear me."

Hawkins turned on Holmes as though he would do violence and it was clearly with effort that he restrained himself.

"We must not act out of misplaced vengeance. This trail is rather too obvious." Holmes again shone his lantern on the disturbed grass. "Let us tend to this fallen man and then proceed to Smythe's residence calmly. There is much we do not yet know and for all our suspicions, Smythe may prove an ally."

"It is quite clear to me, Mr. Holmes, that this trail and the blood upon it points straight to Smythe," grated Hawkins.

"Rather too clearly," Holmes said still calm. "Please allow me to do the talking when we get there. I promise you, sir, that we will get Miss Worth back."

As we attended to the driver a scrap of paper fell from his limp hand. Holmes picked it up.

"The collection for the woman. We will be in touch," was all that was written upon it. Holmes slipped it into his pocket for later examination while I attempted to calm Hawkins again. Once the task was done we re-mounted our horses and rode back the way we had come towards Trelawney House.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI:**

**Trelawney House**

We crossed through the great front gates of the old hall now known as Trelawney House. It was much older than Livesey House and had something of the baronial feel to it. I had, of course, seen it in broad daylight and then it had seemed quite charming. Now, cast in shadows and moonshine, it took on a much more sinister air. We dismounted before the door and while Holmes and Hawkins went up the steps to the front door I remained behind to hold the horses until a servant could relieve me of them.

Holmes had to pound on the door a second time before it was finally opened. I saw only a silhouette of a short man and the words Holmes spoke were too low for me to hear. The servant turned, snapped his fingers at some one within and then threw the door wide to permit Holmes and Mr. Hawkins to pass. As soon as they had crossed the threshold another servant came out and took the lead straps from me. I was struck by this man in particular for he was a dwarf with as bald a pate as a cue ball. He politely gestured that I might ascend the stares and then led the horses away without a word spoken. Holmes and Mr. Hawkins awaited me in the foyer of the old manor in company with an Oriental. My mind flashed back to the first conversation we had had with Mr. Hawkins and I knew this man must be the majordomo of Smythe's household.

"Who may I announce as your companions, Mr. Hawkins?" asked the Oriental.

"I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my old friend and then indicated me. "This is Dr. John Watson whom I believe your master has already met."

The Oriental looked from Holmes to me and gave a curt nod. "This way, gentlemen."

We followed the majordomo down a matted passage. He showed us at the end into a great library, all lined with bookcases and busts upon the top of them. Behind a large desk of some dark wood hung a family portrait depicting a very beautiful blonde woman seated with a child upon her lap and a tall, handsomely dark man standing behind her with his hand upon her shoulder. They wore clothing of the early part of the last century. I know little of historical costume and so could narrow it down no more than that. I also noticed on another wall a slightly smaller portrait of a woman in similar dress. She was depicted with golden hair, full lips and striking blue eyes. I thought there was something sad in the cast of her eyes but also a strong or determined look about her. Below the painting, atop a low bookshelf, was a small, exquisitely crafted wooden box with mother of pearl inlay. I had seen boxes like it when I was a young student and knew that it would contain surgeon's tools. It was an odd thing in this room but as I continued my inspection I realised that it was far from the oddest. Here and there were swords and pistols of another age. Some were ornate while others were very plain. To my astonishment I discovered, sitting in the corner near the fireplace, a small ship's cannon with all of its paraphernalia. I looked back to the little box of surgeon's tools and something flicked at my memory but I could not put my finger on it. My thoughts were interrupted a moment later when Mr. Smythe entered the room and greeted us in his flamboyant fashion.

"Halloa, Hawkins!" Smythe said extending his hand. Mr. Hawkins glanced at Smythe and down to his hand. A dark look passed over his face but slowly he raised his own hand and shook with Smythe. Smythe frowned at this, his eyes wary.

"Halloa to you too, Doctor," Smythe said as he reached for my hand. I was less reluctant than Hawkins had been. Remembering what Holmes had said about the possibility that Smythe was no more than an eccentric I was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment. Doubtless he noted my slight hesitation but made no mention of it.

"An' you must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Smythe turning finally to my old companion.

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smythe." Holmes shook hands readily with Smythe. I am quite sure that even if he knew Smythe to be a murderer Holmes would not at that moment have treated him any less civilly.

"Call me Smitty, Mr. Holmes," Smythe said still in his usual gregarious fashion. "Mr. Smythe was me father and all that. I don't care for being so formal. Is this a social visit?"

"Rather a late hour for such, don't you think?" Holmes said evenly. "Unfortunately we are here in regard to the matter of the burglary."

"Aye. So I feared," Smythe motioned for us all to sit then propped himself on the edge of his large desk. "Tai Huang, bring brandy for our guests. I'll 'ave me usual."

I had been paying as much attention to Holmes as to Smythe and when our host spoke the name of his manservant I noted Holmes's eyes flash to the majordomo for an instant. There was something in that, though, what it was I could not guess. Tai Huang departed and we all settled back except for Hawkins who was clearly having trouble keeping his temper down. Such a black look was on his face that I feared he might yet draw his revolver and shoot Smythe before our very eyes.

"So what is it on this fine evening that brings you here to me humble abode?" Smythe asked with another of his gold-laced smiles. "The Doctor inspected the fields the other day but it's far too dark for a venture outdoors. Has something occurred of which you believe I might have knowledge?"

"I was very curious as to the reason you had offered to purchase Mr. Hawkins's collection of artefacts," said Holmes sedately.

"Oh?" Mr. Smythe seemed a little surprised. "I thought it would be a novel addition to me own collection. Just look 'round this room, Mr. Holmes. I have quite a few fine pieces. I can trace most of the swords back to their original owners. The pistols all have their histories, too."

"I have looked about the room, Smitty," Holmes said using the nickname with slight distaste. "Your collection is indeed quite extensive. Your paintings, too, are most rare. Painted by William Nighy, were they not?"

"Aye," Smythe said. I could not tell from either his tone or expression whether he was pleased or disconcerted. "You know him, Mr. Holmes?"

"I knew of him but I had not studied any of his works until recently." Holmes stood and stepped close to the portrait of the lone woman. "He was known for his accurate depictions. Modern historians believe he was nearly photographic in his technique. Of course there is no way to be sure. He died of yellow fever in the West Indies."

"Aye," Smythe said with the slightest of smiles. "Went there to get away from England and to paint the scenery. I think, had he lived, Nighy would have ranked among the great masters."

"Did you know that another offer had been made to Mr. Hawkins?" Holmes asked.

"For his collection? Yes." Smythe glanced at Hawkins then back to Holmes. "He told me some time back."

"Do you still want the collection, Smitty?" Holmes asked casually.

Smythe narrowed his eyes. A cunning look crossed his face and he looked directly at Hawkins.

"You think I'm the one what tried to steal it." Smythe said nodding.

To my utter astonishment Mr. Hawkins rose suddenly and produced his revolver. Holmes wheeled 'round and I found myself on my feet. We all stood perfectly still. I must say that Smythe remained unshaken by the tense situation. He remained propped on the edge of his desk with not so much as a raised eyebrow. The only change in him was the absence of his smile.

"Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said reproachfully.

"Holmes," Hawkins said through clinched teeth. "This blackguard has my fiancée."

"Mr. Hawkins, this does not help resolve the situation," Holmes said in his most reasonable tone.

I was completely flummoxed. I could not blame Mr. Hawkins for reacting in this manner but I was also sure that Holmes was correct. This highhanded reaction would do nothing but compound the danger. I was attempting to think of some way to calm Mr. Hawkins when Tai Huang re-entered the room with a tray. He did not seem to take in the tableau as he crossed behind Hawkins to deposit the tray on a sideboy. I was mistaken. When the majordomo turned around he levelled a pistol of his own at Mr. Hawkins. My hand went instantly to my pocket. I am a crack shot and at this range I was certain that I could kill the Oriental but there was every likelihood that before I could he would kill Mr. Hawkins. I have since heard this situation called a Mexican stand off. Why, is a mystery to me.

"Well," Smythe said a little louder than necessary. "I think we've reached an uncomfortable point."

Holmes's eyes snapped up to look over my shoulder just as I heard a step behind me which was followed an instant later by the chill touch of steel to my neck.

"It'd be wise of ye, Doctor, to lower that pistol," came a gravely voice.

Holmes reacted in an instant. Like a striking panther he scooped up one of the small busts from a shelf and hurled it across the room at me. I ducked in time and heard the marble shatter against the wall accompanied by the loud scream of an animal. The sounds of scrabbling steps behind me indicated that my assailant had also ducked. Holmes had not wasted his opportunity. Using his momentum to carry him across the floor he snatched up one of the swords on display and lunged past me. The sharp ring of steel on steel filled the room. As I rose up I turned to find Holmes engaged in deadly combat with a lean, scarred man. In that moment I recognised him. It had been his grim visage that I had seen peering from the window when I had past by this house the day I had encountered Colonel Martin and his wife. Holmes and this man exchanged a number of blows before I remembered that Tai Huang was still threatening Hawkins with a revolver. Turning back to the servant I discovered that Smythe had produced his own weapon and was pointing it at me. Instinctively I pointed my revolver at Smythe but quickly directed it back to Tai Huang as Smythe was already being covered by Hawkins. I felt quite foolish but that was the least of my worries. Holmes had lost the impetus of his attack and the lean man had gained equilibrium so that they now fought on even terms.

I have been present at some of Holmes's fencing matches and he is proficient in singlestick and the fine art of Bartitsu but for all of that he found himself hard pressed against this adversary. The man seemed to know a thousand tricks of the blade as he whirled and parried. Now he attacked low and now he feinted high. Holmes was steadily giving ground unable to break through what I can only describe as a masterful defence. The expression on his opponent's face was a mixture of pleasure, scorn, admiration and amusement. Holmes's greater reach should have given him some advantage but failed to do so. His every lunge resulted in a parry and repost. There were no rules in such a fight as this. Once, when Holmes pressed his attack, the scarred man hurled a book at him. Another time he kicked Holmes's shin. Holmes recovered quickly enough to parry a lightning quick thrust. Back and forth before the the tall French doors that led onto the moonlit garden they fought. The end came suddenly. Holmes had lunged and inevitably the scarred man parried the attack. While Holmes's arm was still fully extended the scarred man struck a stinging blow with the flat of his sword to Holmes's elbow then bound his blade and sent it clattering across the floor. Holmes found himself staring down the length of the scarred man's own blade. Both men were breathing hard.

"Well done, Mr. Holmes," said the scarred man in a voice tinged with appreciation. "I haven't had such a pleasurable exchange in years. Now ye'll kindly ask Dr. Watson to lower his revolver."

"I feel that would place us all at your questionable mercy," Holmes replied dryly.

"So what is it to be then, Mr. Holmes?" the scarred man asked ironically. "Are we to stand immobile until more of Jack's men arrive and cast the balance entirely in our favour?"

Holmes stared for a moment in silent thought before he spoke.

"You were not even trying to kill me." It was not a question. I took a moment to realise that other than the blow Holmes had taken on his elbow he was unscathed.

"No," said the scarred man. "I would prefer ye to be a living, breathing ally rather than an inconvenient corpse."

"Perhaps if all of the weapons were lowered it would prove conducive to a civilised discussion?" suggested Holmes.

The scarred man smiled good-naturedly and lowered his blade.

"Jack, Tai Huang," he said. The two men exchanged a look and lowered their pistols. I lowered mine but Hawkins maintained his aim at Smythe.

"Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said clearly. "Please lower your revolver."

"They've got Abigail!" snarled Hawkins shaking with his passion.

"They do not," Holmes assured him. There was such confidence in Holmes's voice that Hawkins's resolve wavered.

"Are you sure?" Hawkins demanded.

"I am," said Holmes simply.

Hawkins lowered his weapon and all of the strength seemed to go out of him at once. He nearly collapsed into his chair and held his bowed head in one hand. The scarred man moved to the tray and poured a glassful of brandy. He took it to Hawkins who looked up and accepted it. Before he got it to his lips, however, he nearly dropped the snifter in shock.

"Barber!" Hawkins barked. This was the first clear look Hawkins had had of the lean, scar faced man. His expression was stunned and his complexion pale. My conversation with the late Mr. Biggs came to my mind then.

"How are ye, Jimmy?" the scarred man asked with a familiar tone.

"But," Hawkins stammered. "I went to your funeral. You fell from the cliff."

"And on the third day," said Smythe in a drawn out ironic tone.

The scarred man rolled his eyes and said, "I was never in the coffin. I had to leave the village, Jimmy. I'd been here too long."

"But why?" Hawkins asked more bewildered than ever.

"It's a long story, lad," Barber said not unkindly. "We've had someone here since yer grandfather brought the treasure back with him. My watch had come to an end. We already had several men in place. We had to make it look good."

"Aye," Smythe said. "The man you know as Mr. Biggs took the watch for a couple years. Him and the parson. Then I came an' bought this place."

"Gentlemen," Holmes interrupted taking a step forward. "Are we to understand that you have been guarding the Hawkins family against some enemy they have been unaware of?"

"No," said Barber.

"Bones's account book," said Smythe.

With narrowed, gleaming eyes Holmes raised his hand to his mouth with one finger extended across his lips in that gesture I knew meant he had just had an epiphany.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

**Revelations**

"You are the Brethren Court," Holmes breathed.

Barber, Smythe and Tai Huang exchanged sharp looks before Barber spoke.

"The Brethren Court is no more, Mr. Holmes," he said. "It died out nearly a century ago. We are the last members and we no longer hold allegiance to it nor do we continue to honour the Code as it was written."

"But," Mr. Hawkins stuttered. "Who are you, really?"

"This is Captain Tai Huang," Barber said indicating the majordomo with a grand sweep of his hand and a slight bow to the man. "'E was formerly the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea. This is Captain Jack Sparrow. Formerly the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean."

I thought there was something mocking in the gesture and bow Barber gave to the man we had until that moment known as Smythe.

"And I am Captain Hector Barbossa," he indicated himself and gave a slight bow like an actor accepting applause. "Formerly the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea."

"Rubbish!" I barked unable to contain myself. "This is really too ridiculous!"

"I've always thought so," Sparrow said with the flicker of a smile.

"Doctor," Holmes said warningly.

"Holmes!" I was indignant. After all we had been through that night I had no stomach for such fantasies. "Eighteenth century pirates? You can not stand there and pretend to believe all of this."

"I did not say so." Holmes's manner was cool. Calculating. Even in the state my thoughts were in I could see that his mind was bent hard upon the problem before him. "Tell me, Captain Barbossa, why I should give any credence to your claim."

"Our agent at the museum tells us that you have been doing a good deal of research into the Brethren Court," said Captain Barbossa.

"Professor Wadsworth is one of you?" Hawkins asked.

"Miss Anamaria Saldana," Barbossa said. "We know she made a point of detailing Captain Jack Sparrow to you, Mr. Holmes. She said it seemed to irritate you but you were patient with her."

"I remember her description," Holmes admitted. "I wondered at the time why she went into such careful detail. I thought it was another reason," Holmes trailed off with a slight frown. I believe that his vanity had been ever so slightly bruised. He went on, "I suppose you are about to show me your tattoo, Captain Sparrow."

Sparrow had already removed his jacket and began rolling up his right shirt sleeve. He presented us with a view to his arm that disclosed a white scar approximately an inch tall in the form of a 'P'. Above that was a tattoo depicting a bird of some sort in flight over waves. Sparrows swarthy face split in a boyish smile. Evidently Holmes recognised these marks but he remained unconvinced.

"I'm afraid it will take more than this evidence to validate your claim," Holmes said. "Such a tattoo could easily be done in the short time since we began this investigation. The scar might be done with an acid or bleach that would not cause a lingering scab."

Undaunted by Holmes's statements, Sparrow removed his waistcoat and stripped the shirt from his frame. The man was fairly covered in tattoos. With odd fascination I peered at this grand display of ink. With mounting astonishment I realised that I recognised the words upon his back. Written among and around images of barbaric grandeur was the Desiderata poem. Sparrow displayed this to Holmes with an expression of both satisfaction and resignation. It seemed to me that he suspected Holmes would offer some other objection.

Holmes crossed the room and taking his glass from an inner pocket he examined the tattoos. Sparrow stood with that half smile of his and a self-satisfied glint in his eyes. Holmes drew back with a frown of concentration. He pocketed the glass and paced back and forth a moment while Sparrow redressed himself.

"Holmes?" I asked unable and unwilling to wait longer.

"It's real," he said simply. "It does not prove anything but it is suggestive of several possibilities. Mr. Sparrow, might I examine your left ear?"

I do not know whose reaction was more startled. Mine or Sparrow's.

"That's _Captain_ Sparrow," the man said as he turned his head and brushed the hair away from his left ear.

"My apologies, Captain," said Holmes sedately then used his glass again. I could not imagine what significance the man's ear could be but I did trust Holmes. I waited quietly as did the others in the room. Holmes's frown had deepened when he stepped back once more from Sparrow. He paced again and stopped next to me.

"I don't know, Watson," he murmured under his breath.

"You don't know, Holmes?" I asked. Could Holmes actually believe this extraordinary claim? My mind raced. I felt that this was surely madness.

"There are very few things that can identify a person with complete accuracy, Watson," Holmes still spoke under his breath. "Known birthmarks, tattoos in combination, photographs, even the new science of fingerprinting. The chief among these, however, is the ear. No two human ears are alike, even from parent to child."

"But how could you have ever seen the ear of Jack Sparrow?" I demanded.

"Nighy, Watson."

"The painter?" I was having some difficulty stringing these revelations together.

"What I said about Nighy earlier is quite correct," Holmes went on. "It was the main reason for his notoriety. He would accurately depict his subjects. Recording them down to the last detail and blemish. He was not popular with the more vain of the aristocracy but his paintings of landscapes were highly sought after. His portraits would take months and he did very few until he went to the West Indies. You see in this room two fine examples of his work and I would wager they are almost completely unknown."

"Are you telling me that you have seen a portrait of Sparrow?" I asked with the light of understanding finally dawning on my muddled mind.

"In the museum's collection." Holmes nodded. "I have never before seen in any person the exact replication of features from parent to child that I see in this man. I am absolutely certain that he is a great grandson of the original Captain Sparrow."

"What of Barbossa?" I asked.

"There are reports of injuries he suffered but the scars could be reproduced," Holmes scratched his chin. "No portrait was ever done of him. At least there is none that are known."

"Could they be in the grip of some mania?" I asked grasping at a medical answer.

"Well," Holmes said considering. "Their claim certainly goes against all reason. A mania is less likely than an out right lie but those are the more likely answers. Men do not live hundreds of years."

"Mr. Holmes," Barbossa said breaking in on our council. "Per'aps ye've heard the tale of _Isla de Muerta? _The hoarded gold and the bloody battle?"

"I described it to these two gentlemen earlier this evening," Holmes said turning to face Barbossa.

"Did you research the legends surrounding it?" Barbossa persisted.

Holmes nodded warily.

"Jack," Barbossa called and we three looked to Sparrow but to our mutual surprise a shape leaped from the shadows atop one of the bookcases. A small monkey dressed in a red vest and tiny white shirt landed on Barbossa's arm and perched upon his shoulder. Barbossa saw our startled looks.

"We named the monkey Jack," he explained dryly. He stepped to the tall French doors that led to the garden, cast them open, then beckoned us to join him. There was a broad stone porch with a marble railing that glowed in the moonlight. Barbossa stepped to this. Instantly the rather sweet countenance of the monkey vanished to be replaced by a thing that still haunts my nightmares. It was a thing so foul and withered with corruption that a proper description beggars the imagination. No animal could live in such a state. Yet it clung to its master's shoulder and looked about as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Barbossa held up a peanut and fed it to the grotesque creature.

"So there was a curse," Holmes said. There was a note to his voice that I had never heard before nor since. Holmes was as shocked as I myself.

"Aye," Barbossa said in a haunted voice. "Fer ten year I and me crew suffered such as this. Moonlight revealed us fer what we were. As it reveals poor little Jack here. I can only think that after the battle and after everyone had gone Jack crept back into the cave where I was a layin' dead. 'E musta' gone to the chest and took one of the cursed coins. Now the chest is gone and there's naught anyone can do. The curse don't seem to bother 'im as it did us. Never did seem to. It's as well fer me to 'ave a companion these days. Somethin' good from the old times makes these days easier to bear."

"Aye, that and rum," agreed Sparrow as we turned back to the lighted room.

"It explains the footprints, at least," Holmes murmured absently with his head bowed in thought.

I poured myself a snifter of brandy and sank heavily into a chair. This was nearly too much for me. With all of the stress of the past week and the events of earlier in the evening I was nearly done in. Then to my mind returned our original reason for coming here.

"Holmes!" I said. "Miss Worth."

Before my old friend could respond we were once again interrupted. Through the still open French doors strode eight men darkly dressed and armed to the teeth with revolvers, rifles and shotguns. Barbossa instinctively reached for his sword. I placed my hand on my revolver. Sparrow and Tai Huang reached for their pistols. Hawkins stood drawing his revolver from his belt. It was clear, though, that these men had the better hand and so we all reluctantly lowered our weapons. At a signal from a tall man I took to be their leader two of the intruders moved among us for a moment collecting the various weapons.

While that was being done I took stock of them. They were all clad in dark clothing of the sort field hands commonly wear with dark hats or caps. All of them had dark hair and sun darkened skin. I took them to be continentals of the regions bordering the Mediterranean Sea. With only the evidence before me I felt sure that these men must be Carbonari. Perhaps this tall man was Smets. Perhaps he was no more than Smets's lieutenant. Whatever the case, I could see that he had encountered something he had not expected. His eye darted from one of us to the other. His men looked us over in much the same manner casting occasional apprehensive looks to their leader.

"You." The tall man pointed his revolver at Holmes. "Who are you?"

Holmes eyed this man as he might one of the many specimens he had viewed through his microscope. His eye travelled over the man accumulating data.

"I am Sherlock Holmes," my friend finally said. "Where is Mr. Smets?"

The startled attention of all eight men was suddenly riveted upon Holmes. The tall man recovered more quickly than the others.

"I am asking the questions, Mr. Holmes." said the tall man with a slight French accent.

One of the tall man's subordinates spoke over his shoulder without taking his eyes from us. He spoke rapid French that I could not follow at all. Unlike Holmes I do not have a ready command of foreign tongues and the little French that I do know is limited to ordering at restaurants and asking which train is mine. The tall man replied curtly in the same language. All were silent for a moment. The tall man was evidently weighing options in light of the presence of Holmes. Finally he turned and gave an order to another of his men. The man nodded and retreated through the French doors, vanishing into the night.

"So it's wait an' see, is it?" Sparrow said to the tall man with a knowing smile. "You were sent to deal with me and now things have gone awry."

"We were sent to kill you, Smythe," replied the tall man. "And anyone who tried to prevent us from doing it."

"Lots of men have tried that over the years." Sparrow's cool reply in the face of such deadly scoundrels as these gave me new respect for the man. His foppish demeanour was apparently a pose.

"Captain Barbossa," Holmes said ignoring our captors. "We were in the middle of a discussion when these men broke in on us. Would you care to enlighten us all as to the reasons behind your watchfulness?"

Barbossa glanced sidelong at the dark clad men before he spoke. "Ye know that after the Battle of the Maelstrom the Brethren Court was cast into upheaval. There were captains what felt the Court had betrayed them when they released Calypso and loosed her 'pon the world again. Most were content to carry on but a few took things into their own hands."

"England, Roberts, Davis, Hook, Bones, Silver and above all Flint," Holmes said stepping over to the sideboy for a snifter of brandy. I noted that the wary guards there withdrew slightly but did not stop him. The tall man observed us with a careful eye.

"Flint had gathered in all those what wanted to join 'im," Barbossa continued. "They learned about the Chest."

"The chest?" I asked.

"The Chest," Sparrow corrected me. "The Chest contains the heart of the captain of the Flying Dutchman. Hidden and in the care of his wife. Only she hadn't hidden it well enough. Bones and Pew found it at Shipwreck Cove. They couldn't take it away and they couldn't open it but they copied the markings from the surface."

"The drawings in the account book of Billy Bones," Hawkins put in with sudden realisation. "Those weren't just random drawings and doodles."

"Instructions from Captain Davy Jones his-self, late of the Flying Dutchman," Barbossa confirmed. "To any with the key to decipher them they would give power over the sea goddess."

"Which explains why Bones carried the account book. An article that no longer served a real purpose," said Holmes. "The key to decipher the instructions is Bones's tattoo of the hanged man, is it not? A copy of which is scrawled among the other designs in the account book."

"Aye," Barbossa said. "Once ye know what it is the key's not so very hard to understand. Bones and Pew had been careful and very crafty. When Elizabeth Turner left Shipwreck Cove they stalked 'er. When 'er guard was down they seized the Chest and made off with it. But they didn't have the Key. Without that they couldn't command the Dutchman fer they could not open the chest."

"I thought her name was Elizabeth Swann," I said confused. "And you say that she married Davy Jones?"

"Oh it had been Swann, Doctor," said Sparrow walking casually in front of the intruders to get his own drink. As before the men fell back to let him pass. "The governor's daughter. She fell in love with and eventually married a blacksmith, pirate and a good man. Not Jones."

"Really?" I asked interested in spite of our dangerous predicament.

"Aye," Barbossa said. He stepped nearer one of the book shelves and the men drew away from him also. "I performed the ceremony meself. On the deck of the Black Pearl in the midst of the bloodiest battle she'd ever seen."

"And he was killed not five minutes later," Sparrow added.

"But you said she was the wife of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_," Hawkins argued.

"William Turner is the captain of that ship," said Sparrow with a slightly sad note. "I helped him stab Jones's heart. Then the crew cut out his and put it in the Chest. He sails the seas even now."

"What became of the Chest after Flint stole it?" Holmes asked bringing us back to the main point.

"I took it from them," Tai Huang said. He too walked around to the sideboy for a snifter of brandy. Our guards had by now become restless with all of the movement and I believe they did not care for the casual nature of our conversation. I noted, though, that the tall man was listening intently to what we were discussing and I presume this was the reason he permitted us to continue unchecked.

"You took it?" Holmes asked.

"The King told me what had happened and told me to get it back. She would have come herself but by then she had a child to think of," Tai Huang said. "So I sailed the _Master of the North_ up behind them and shot away their rudder. Then we boarded their ship and took the Chest. The next day they came at us with two ships off Palm Key and took it back. Turner found me adrift among what was left of my ship and I told him all I knew."

"Turner? Aboard the _Dutchman_?" Hawkins asked.

"Aye," Sparrow said. "It's his duty to conduct the souls of all who die at sea to the after life. Tai Huang wasn't dead but Turner bent the rules and took him aboard. Tai Huang found me."

"And Jack found me and we three set out to put things aright," Barbossa added.

"It seems pirates are more loyal than I would have suspected," Holmes said dubiously.

"We are honourable men after a fashion, Mr. Holmes," Tai Huang said with an air of dignity I would not have guessed at.

"These upstarts had the instructions to accomplish the ritual," Holmes mused. "Why did they want the Chest too?"

"If they had both Calypso bound to their will and the _Dutchman_ at their beck and call they could dominate the seas and all who sailed them," said Barbossa. "With only one they might lose the other."

"Flint took the Chest to Skeleton Island," said Sparrow. "He started caching loot there to distract unwelcome visitors from the real treasure."

"We'd dealt with Flint and some of the others by the time your great grandfather found the map," Barbossa said to Hawkins. "We'd put the fear of the Brethren into Bones an' 'e scampered like the retch 'e was. The others were just interested in the loot by then but not Silver. 'E wanted the Chest and 'e would have got it except fer Ben Gunn."

"Gunn was one of your men?" Holmes asked. He stepped closer to our guards in a casual way. Again they fell back slightly. Holmes walked away as though he were only pacing but I could now see there had been a pattern to his movements. Between him and the pirates they had driven the intruders into a tight group in front of the French doors.

Sparrow took a cigar from a silver box on the side boy and walked to the corner of his desk where he picked up a box of matches. He struck the match and puffing on the cigar he said, "Ben had been in on the plot to kick us out but when Flint was dead he saw the error of his ways."

"Gunn came to us fer fergiveness," Barbossa said.

"And you enlisted him in your ranks," Holmes's tone was dry.

"Fergiveness is God's province, Mr. Holmes." Barbossa's voice was equally dry. "We marooned Gunn on Skeleton Island charging 'im with the protection of the Chest. We swore we would take 'im off when five years had passed but only if 'e discharged 'is duty faithfully."

"So when the _Hispaniola_ came and Silver was there Gunn fought against his former master and earned his way back into your good graces," said Holmes.

"Aye." Barbossa nodded. "When they got back here Gunn came to us directly. We sent 'im back here and began our watchfulness. We recovered the chest and gave it back to Elizabeth and to this day it rests in the keeping of the family. Over the years we've destroyed every attempt to rework the binding or capture the Chest."

"How is it that you are still alive after all this time?" I asked.

"They found the Fountain of Youth, Watson," Holmes said. "It is recorded that both Captain Sparrow and Captain Barbossa sailed to Florida in search of it."

Sparrow snorted out a laugh, Barbossa rolled his eyes and Tai Huang chuckled.

"The secret of our longevity is known only to the members of our family, Doctor," said Sparrow puffing on his cigar. "Vita Vacuus Voluntas est Non Vita."

"Life Without Purpose is not Life?" I asked.

"When ye know yer likely to live through anything that may come and ye have all the wealth ye could ever want, Doctor," said Barbossa solemnly. "After a while ye need somethin' more. Gold doesn't glitter so sweetly nor do gems shine quite so bright when all ye truly value is gone."

The scarred face of the old pirate turned with what I can only describe as longing to the portrait of the lovely, blonde haired woman. Then the world came to end.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII**

**Resurrections**

I had no notion of what had happened. The room was filled with a choking cloud of foul smoke and I could hear absolutely nothing. After a moment the smoke began to clear and my ears began to ring abominably. Through watering eyes and violent coughs I perceived the utter destruction of the stately French doors and the ruin that had been our captors. Looking about me I discovered that we six were all still intact if somewhat dishevelled. The three pirates seemed far less affected than Holmes, our client or myself.

Barbossa and Tai Huang were instantly at the remnants of the doors. They shouted to each other something but my hearing was in such a state that I still could make nothing of it. I turned to look for the cause of the explosion and found Sparrow sitting sedately on the carriage of the small ship's gun puffing neat little circles of smoke into the already smokey air of the library.

As an army surgeon I had seen and heard artillery used but never in the confines of a room. Now I understood the reason for all of Holmes's walking and the careful manoeuvring the pirates had done to get the Carbonari into a position aligned with the muzzle of the gun. Hawkins was as stunned by the blast as I but Holmes shrugged it off with that careless ease I had so many times observed in him. Others might have called my old friend cold but I knew his thoughts were primarily on our case and the successful resolution of it. So while Hawkins and I were coughing to clear our lungs, Holmes was inspecting the remains of our guards. I joined him thinking that it was possible they were not all beyond my skill. I was wrong. I will not state here what I found, only that they were all dead.

"Jack," Barbossa's voice sounded as if it were filtered through layers of cotton. "How much powder did ye use?"

"Only a quarter charge." Sparrow seemed offended.

"A quarter?" Barbossa shook his head in disgust. "Inside a room?"

"Gentlemen," Holmes shouted over their disagreement. "I believe we have a more pressing matter."

The pirates turned dual scowls upon my old friend.

"Have you forgotten the man dispatched to Smets for instructions?" Holmes persisted.

"He's right," Tai Huang agreed.

"We'll need horses," Barbossa said collecting his sword from the corpse of the man who had taken it.

"Aye." Sparrow was pulling revolvers from the drawer of his desk. "We can spread out and cut 'im off. Groups of two."

"Der is no need," a soft feminine voice broke in more clearly than should have been possible. We all turned to the library door to find Miss Hinemoana Haliai there and in her arms was the dog, Roscoe, with bright shinning eyes and wagging tail. I knew the dog had been killed. I had seen him lifeless on the floor of the carriage. Yet there he was restored to his healthy, vigorous self. After so many shocks that evening this one did not particularly overwhelm me.

"Roscoe?" Hawkins breathed with a dawning light of pleasure. He looked to Miss Haliai. "He was dead. How?"

"'Im not 'appy w'ere 'im was. Not at peace." She set the dog on the floor and Roscoe trotted straight to his master. "'Im brave and true. 'Eart of de lion in little breast. I call 'im back an' 'e come. 'Im love you, Masta Hawkins. Not 'appy widout you."

Smiling a knowing smile, Miss Haliai strode gracefully into the library going up to Holmes. I stepped closer to make introductions.

"Holmes," I said. "This is Miss Hinemoana Haliai. Miss Haliai, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"I am charmed, lady, to make your acquaintance." Holmes, having recovered and back to his usual dispassionate self, took her proffered hand and gave a polite bow. "You have a very beautiful and unusual name."

"T'ank you, Mista Holmes." The lady's smile broadened with pleasure at the compliment.

"Am I right that Hinemoana is a Maori name?" Holmes asked. "It means 'sea maiden', does it not?"

With a pantomime of delight and a girlish laugh she said, "It does, Mista Holmes."

"And Haliai is from the Greek," Holmes went on. "I believe it appears in Callimachus's _Hymn to Artemis _and is used instead of the more common sea nymph."

"She has other names, Mr. Holmes," said Barbossa stepping across the room to us. "We knew 'er as Tia Dalma until the Battle of the Maelstrom."

"Mr. Holmes," Hawkins interrupted. "If my fiancée is not here and these men were the agents of the Carbonari sent to deal with Smitty, or rather Captain Sparrow, then where is Abigail?"

"I believe she is in no immediate danger, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes said reassuringly. "The note said that they would be in touch. They are intending an exchange and will not put that at risk by harming your fiancée."

"What's that?" Sparrow asked with genuine concern.

Holmes described the events that had led up to our visit that evening. He told of the clues and then the plea for help from the woman, Charlotte. He described the scene at the Benbow and what we had found on the road. At mention of the death of Mr. Biggs, Sparrow despatched Tai Huang to the inn.

"I wasn't expecting this," Sparrow said clearly agitated but keeping a cool head. I was impressed by him again. His manner was similar to Sherlock Holmes's in that his expression did not greatly alter. Anyone could see that his mind was racing through possibilities towards some conclusion.

Barbossa was also thinking, though his manner was more introspective and somewhat pensive. He paced in a small circle as though there were a wall surrounding him. When I realised this it occurred to me that a ship's quarter deck was no larger than the number of paces he took before turning back. Old habits die hard it seems.

"Mr. Holmes," Hawkins broke the general silence, his active nature in ascendance. "Even if Abigail is in no immediate danger we can not just sit here."

"We are not just sitting, Mr. Hawkins," Holmes replied earnestly. "We are reasoning. What would Smets do? Where will he go? How will he get there? These are all things I must contend with and reason my way through before I can take any intelligent action."

"Smets is right here in Black Hill Cove," said Sparrow.

"Here?" Holmes asked.

"He has assumed the identity of Colonel Martin," Barbossa said.

"Martin is Smets?" Hawkins exclaimed.

"You didn't think he and I hated each other because of his fox hunting, did you?" said Sparrow with a rueful smile. "He figured out who I was, or at least who he thought I was. We knew him already."

"Is that how you were ready for his man in London, Captain Barbossa?" Holmes asked.

"We have an agent in his own home," Barbossa replied. "A brave woman we took into the family some years ago. She had her own score to settle with Smets. When she found out his plan to burgle the museum she got word to Jack and he informed me."

"And you ambushed their man after he had stolen the compasses," Holmes said. "Why not before?"

"By killin' him after the theft it made it look like we'd been watchin' the museum," Barbossa said. "Killin' him before might have given away our agent inside Smets's organisation."

"And what has become of the compasses now?" asked my old friend.

"They're in the museum's safe." Sparrow smiled smugly. "Anamaria put them there the day you inspected the crime scene."

Holmes smiled approvingly then said, "With all of the effort you have put into guarding the Pieces of Eight, gentlemen, I wonder that you have never thought to destroy them."

"There be no need to destroy them, Mr. Holmes," said Barbossa. "They're of no use to anyone."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and I must have had some similar expression upon my face.

"The Pieces of Eight had to be passed from one Pirate Lord to the next to retain their power, Mr. Holmes," Barbossa explained. "That power came from the ritual when it was performed."

"And Flint never performed the ritual," Holmes reasoned.

"These trinkets are our lightning rod," Sparrow put in. "When anyone starts asking 'bout them we know something is up and can put a stop to it. We've been trying to purchase them for years but the Hawkins's never would sell."

Outside we heard the wheels of a carriage on the gravel drive leading to the back of the garden. A few minutes passed before four men entered through the shattered French doors. Tai Huang, Parson MacKenzie, the dwarf who had taken our horses earlier and Mr. Lee the balding, truculent man I had seen at the Admiral Benbow. Between them they carried the body of Mr. Biggs. Sparrow cleared his desk with a sweep of his arm and they deposited the innkeeper upon its broad surface.

"Doctor Watson," Sparrow said. "Will you remove the ball from his heart please?"

"I'm afraid, Captain, that the man is beyond my help," I said gently. "He's beyond anyone's help. He died well. Let him rest in peace."

"Doctor," Sparrow said in a reasonable voice. "Either you'll remove the ball or I will. If I do it there will be more of a mess."

I could not understand. The man was dead. Why would they want the bullet removed? I looked to Holmes who considered a moment, then nodded.

"I don't have my instruments. I will need to get my bag from Mr. Hawkins's house," I said.

Sparrow looked to Barbossa who stood near the portrait of the lady. Barbossa looked down to the box of surgeon's tools below the painting. He ran his fingers gently over the lid before lifting the box and bringing it to me. Barbossa stood there for a moment holding the box in both hands looking down at its inlaid surface.

"She wouldn't mind, Hector," Sparrow said softly.

Barbossa's eyes rose to look at his fellow pirate and then at me.

"I had 'em made special fer her, Doctor," Barbossa said in a low voice. "The finest craftsman in Switzerland made 'em. She cried when she took the wrappin' off."

"I will not disgrace them, sir," I said solemnly. Clearly these tools held a special place of honour for the old pirate.

Almost reluctantly he handed over the box. I took it and set it carefully on the desk next to Mr. Biggs. When I opened it I found that each tool was finely crafted from the best steel mounted with handles of silver and ivory. Though spotless, they did show signs of use. From the box I selected a bullet probe and a pair of long forceps. It was a matter of a few minutes to remove the bullet. I held it up to show the pirates but dropped it when, to my utter astonishment, Mr. Biggs coughed and gasped.

Sparrow stepped up with a large glass in his hand and splashed its contents on the man's face. Biggs spluttered and flailed his arm to ward off Sparrow. He rose to a sitting position and Sparrow held out another glass.

"Blast!" Biggs roared. "I'm already awake!"

Sparrow smiled warmly and pushed the glass towards my patient.

"Rum," he said.

Mr. Biggs smiled broadly and took the glass. He downed the rum in a single draught and sighed lustily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Now I'm fit fer an Irish wake," Biggs said happily.

"Doctor," said Sparrow turning to me. "I present Master Joshamee Gibbs. The finest bosun ever to sail."

"Gibbs?" I mumbled quite perplexed at what I had just witnessed. Barbossa pushed a snifter of brandy into my hand and took the surgeon's tools from me. I swallowed the brandy in a renewed state of shock. I felt that if I should endure any more shocks such as the ones I had witnessed that evening I might lose my wits. The dwarf took me by the hand and settled me into a chair to one side. I sat there for several minutes getting my mind around all that I had seen that night. All of my beliefs seemed to be on the verge of falling to ruin. I had seen a monkey in a state that was not possible. I had seen a dog returned to life. And I had just operated upon a dead man only to have him sit up and swallow a draught of rum with a smile. In light of such events the notion of hundred-year-old pirates lurking in the shadows around England no longer seemed so far fetched. I am unsure how long I sat in this confused state before Holmes shook me by the shoulder.

"Watson?" Holmes said a frown of concern creasing his brow. "Come, come, old man. Don't give up on me now."

It was a moment before I found my voice.

"Holmes?" I said. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, my old friend," said he. "I wish there was more time for you to collect yourself. We must go now. In spite of what I have told our client, Miss Worth may be in some danger if we do not."

"Yes," I said still bemused. "Miss Worth. Of course we must go to her."

Sparrow proffered my revolver to me.

"You'll be wanting this, Doctor," he said. "Mr. Holmes, she replied to my signal. She'll meet us in our usual spot."

Quite a lot must have passed by me while I had grappled with my thoughts. I rose to my feet checking that my revolver was still loaded. When I looked about me I found the pirates armed to the teeth and obviously spoiling for some action. I noted that Barbossa had donned a rather battered old broad-brimmed hat festooned with a pair of long feathers and across his breast he had slung a leather baldric with a fine sword hanging in its frog. In his hand he held a much more modern weapon that I had only ever heard of. It was a 'broom-handled' Mouser, the brand new German pistol that was growing in popularity, though, at the time it had been in production for less than a year.

"Come along, Watson," Holmes said taking me by the arm.

We left through the French doors and set out across the fields towards Livesey House. In a short time we arrived at the spot where the grass had been beaten down. Sparrow had told me that it had most likely been a travelling man of the road but I now understood from what he had told Holmes that it was in fact a trysting place for him and this woman who had insinuated herself into Smets's organization. We spread out and hunkered down to await the woman.

"Holmes," I whispered. "I'm afraid that I am quite lost. What are we doing?"

"There is no time to go into great detail, old friend," Holmes said quietly. "You and I are about to beard the lion in his own den. We will go to Smets in the guise of negotiators. Our allies will cause a distraction and we will attend to the rescue of Miss Worth. Just follow my lead, Watson, and be ready to act."

"Very well, Holmes," I said. "Just tell me one more thing. How did you know about the cannon?"

"I used my eyes, of course, Watson." I could hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice. "While you were looking about the room so was I. I observed the end of a quill protruding from the touch hole of the cannon and knew that it was more than likely loaded. Surely you noticed how I shepherded you and Mr. Hawkins out of its line of fire?"

Before I could answer there came a soft rustling in the grass of the field and through the night came a darkly cloaked figure carrying a dark lantern. Sparrow raised the shield upon his own lantern a crack and the figure approached. In the soft light I could see she was not a particularly tall woman. Beneath the hem of her cloak I could discern that she wore well made hunting boots. She drew the hood from her head letting her auburn hair spill about her shoulders and smiled at Holmes.

"Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said it much as she had said it so many years before.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV**

**Into the Lion's Den**

Irene Adler stood in the light of the hooded lantern with an inscrutable smile that seemed a mixture of pleasure and regret. I looked to Holmes. His eyes were locked upon her and held an equally inscrutable look. To Holmes she had been and perhaps would always be The Woman. The only woman to ever have bested him. The late Irene Norton nee Adler was not dead after all.

"Good evening, Mrs. Norton," Holmes said with no trace of any emotion. I, who knew him so well, understood that this was a false note. His complete lack of reaction was a reaction of itself. Holmes would not allow himself to be distracted from his purpose by anything. What emotions he felt then I can not say. What I did know was that he had them under his command and would never let them free.

"It's actually Mrs. Smets for the time being," she said demurely. "As you know, I was widowed and plan to be again very shortly, Mr. Holmes."

I had not known that Mrs. Norton (whom I will call Adler to avoid confusion) had been widowed but clearly Holmes had. There was something between them unspoken. I was later to learn that during Holmes's long absence after the affair at Reichenbach Falls he had met Miss Adler several months after her supposed death. She had been in search of the man responsible for her husband's murder. Undoubtedly, something had occurred.

"Time for that later, love," said Sparrow stepping between them. "

"Ye know why we're here, Irene," Barbossa said coming to his feet.

"The girl," she said with a nod. "He's taken her to his study. He hasn't abused her, though, she was very shaken when they brought her in. He is planning to take her in his boat to London and the safe house he has there in Whitechapel."

"By sea?" Barbossa said puzzled.

"I suspect that even with your considerable resources, Captain Barbossa, you would not be able to monitor the docks in London so well that Smets could not slip through," said Holmes.

"At the docks, no, Mr. Holmes," Barbossa replied cryptically. "At sea we have the advantage of him."

"Trust me, Mista Holmes," said the lady I now knew as Tia Dalma. "'Is boat will neva' leave dis cove."

She turned away from us and strode into the moonlit fields towards the beach. As she did so, the breeze that had been gently drifting from the sea grew in strength to a light wind. A woman who could call a dog back from the dead and deal with an armed and violent man was certainly more formidable than the young lady I had walked with on the beach collecting sea shells. I asked myself if the change in the wind could have been more than the shifting breezes off the coast.

"We must get Abigail out of there!" Mr. Hawkins said hotly. His temper had been renewed on hearing that his fiancée was to be spirited away.

"Gently, Mr. Hawkins," said Holmes. "Let us plan our strategy. We must not act rashly."

Irene Adler gave us a very thorough description of the interior of the manor house detailing the entrances and the number of staff present. She told us that the ten men sent out that evening to commit the acts of violence against us were not expected back. They had been told to await Smets on his boat where he had intended to meet them before the morning tide. She said, though, that there were still a number of men posing as grooms and that the servants in the house were all members of the Carbonari.

In matters of this sort, for all of our experience, Holmes and I were amateurs compared to the wily old Pirate Lords. I dare say that we could have worked out a plan with a good chance of success but between Barbossa and Sparrow we developed one I felt sure would come off in our favour. There was a dispute, however. The pirates proposed we eliminate Smets and his men while Holmes and I would have been happier to have them arrested. Hawkins was himself torn. His greatest concern was, of course, the safety of Miss Worth.

"Captain Barbossa," Holmes argued. "You can not kill them in cold blood. It would be an act of murder."

"You don't murder the enemy in a war, Mr. Holmes," Barbossa said with a very hard edge to his voice. "You kill 'em. Kill 'em before they can kill you."

"Mr. Holmes," said Sparrow. "If they were arrested they would be tried and hung for the crimes they've committed. We're just cutting out a few steps. Savvy?"

"This is England of the nineteenth century, gentlemen," Holmes persisted. "Not the Caribbean of the eighteenth."

"Mr. Holmes," said Miss Adler touching Holmes's arm. "Sherlock, if Smets and his men are arrested it is very likely that they will escape before they can be brought to trial. He has sufficient resources to ensure that he, at least, will escape."

"We've more a chance to rescue the girl with you than without you, Mr. Holmes," said Barbossa. "Either way, we're going in there and dealing with Smets once and fer all. This will end tonight."

Reluctantly Holmes and I agreed. I had known my old friend to act outside the law but this was far beyond anything we had done before. It was cold comfort knowing that acting as we were about to we would likely prevent a great disaster for England and indeed the rest of the world. On the other hand, we would be removing Miss Worth from harm's way. That was the thought that buoyed my spirits and my conscience. So, for a charming young lady, Holmes and I would beard the lion in his den and face whatever consequences that might arise.

We parted from Miss Adler. The pirates, save for Mr. Gibbs, went with her at least as far as the edge of Smets's estate. Mr. Gibbs accompanied Holmes, Hawkins and myself back to Trelawney House where we took Miss Worth's carriage which the pirates had used to transport Gibbs and drove to the estate from there. Hawkins and Gibbs were let down near the gates and followed close behind the carriage staying to the shadows in order to remain undetected. Their mission was to cover the front of the house and either prevent the escape of Smets or to dog his trail should the man somehow slip by them.

Holmes and I stopped before the tall wooden doors of the grand old building and crossed the gravel to the stone steps that led up to them. Holmes gave a pull at the bell rope and we waited somewhat impatiently for an answer. After a moment the bolts were thrown and the door opened noiselessly. Peering out from within was a swarthy little man in a butler's uniform.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the butler. "How may I help you?"

"I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor John Watson," said Holmes handing over one of his calling cards. "We have come on an urgent matter to see Colonel Martin."

"The hour is very late. Does the Colonel know you, sir?" asked the butler.

"The Colonel has never met me but he has met Doctor Watson," replied Holmes. "I think if you give him this he will see us."

Holmes produced from his pocket the slip of paper we had found upon the dead coachman earlier that evening. The butler's eyes flicked to it and then up to Holmes's. There was recognition in them.

"Please step in, gentlemen," he said retreating a pace to allow us to enter.

We handed over our hats and waited in the foyer until the butler returned to conduct us to Smets's drawing room. The room was unoccupied and the butler said that his master would be with us shortly as he had already retired to his rooms for the night. Holmes and I moved about the room noting the locations of the windows and the two doors. From Miss Adler's description we were on the side of the house farthest from the stables. We knew that the study where Miss Worth had been secluded was upstairs almost directly over our heads.

Holmes and I had to wait only a few minutes before Smets entered in his dressing gown. He was not quite so tall as I had estimated him to be when I had met him and Miss Adler on the road. With no more than a nod for greeting Smets addressed Holmes.

"What does this mean?" he said holding out the slip of paper.

"Come, sir," rejoined Holmes coolly. "There is no time for play acting. You know who I am from my card and I know who you are from your reputation. Mr. Hawkins has engaged us to act for him."

Smets stood with half lidded eyes, calculating. He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket before he spoke.

"The note said that I would be in touch," Smets said.

"Very good, sir," Holmes approved. "I am glad that you are sensible. Yes, the note was quite clear but you will understand that our client is in some trepidation over the safety of his fiancée. He is not the man to stand idle in the face of adversity."

"The young lady is quite well," Smets assured us. "She will be returned to Mr. Hawkins unharmed provided that I receive the entire collection in his possession. Every article from the sailor's chest, Mr. Holmes."

"That is problematical," Holmes replied. "The compasses were stolen. Until they are recovered we can not comply with this demand. Our client is perfectly willing to hand over all those articles still in his keeping but he will need to send to London for the items still at the museum."

"I was aware that he no longer has the compasses," Smets said moving to the mantel where he took a cigarette case down and lit one. "I will be satisfied to receive the remaining artefacts. How long will it take to have the items returned from London?"

"I should think we could have them by noon tomorrow but let us agree on tomorrow evening in case there is any difficulty with the trains," Holmes said reasonably.

"That is acceptable." Smets puffed out a grey cloud of smoke with a satisfied smile. "I propose making the exchange at sea. I know Mr. Hawkins has a boat. I will be very glad to meet him..."

Smets suddenly stopped speaking. His face went pale and he turned to the window. I glanced at Holmes who evidently had heard whatever had attracted our host's interest. My ears were still ringing from the report of the cannon in Sparrow's library.

"Treachery!" Smets cried turning on us with a snarl. "Stand where you are!"

From his pocket the Belgian had produced a small revolver and now threatened us with it. Holmes and I remained where we were. I knew that Holmes would be looking for a way to avert disaster and so I remained calm. However, I did not relax my attention. I was listening for whatever noise had caused our negotiation to end. Finally I heard it. Faintly from the far side of the house I could hear gun shots muffled by the intervening walls. Above us in the house I heard running feet and orders being called out.

"Hawkins would have done much better to have negotiated in good faith," growled Smets. "Now he will never see his fiancée again."

"Don't be a fool, Smets," Holmes said unruffled by either the pistol or the man's words. "You can not think that this disturbance is our client's doing."

Holmes was attempting to buy time and perhaps put the villain off our track. Smets narrowed his eyes and looked hard first at Holmes and then at me. I tried to remain as cool as Holmes. Smets took a step towards the door leading to the front hall while keeping his weapon pointed at Holmes. We turned as he traversed the floor so as to keep him in full view. Smets opened the door and called to his butler. The servant rushed to him and they exchanged a few hurried words of French then the butler vanished down the hall.

"We will wait a moment, Mr. Holmes," Smets said. "If you are lying your lives are forfeit as is that of Miss Worth."

There passed one of the most uncomfortable minutes of my entire life. Outwardly Holmes was as cool as ever but I doubt not that his pulse was as elevated as my own. I desperately wanted to draw my own revolver but dared not move until Holmes should give some indication that I do so. Smets stood waiting by the closed door calmly puffing on his cigarette while the noise from outside the house continued. Finally when I thought my nerve would crack there came a knock on the door. Smets called to the butler for news but the butler's words were unclear. Impatiently Smets tore open the door. An instant later the man was knocked from his feet by a solid right cross and Captain Jack Sparrow strode into the room grinning from ear to ear.

"Watson!" Holmes cried. "Quickly! The girl!"

Without a second glance I dashed for the door and the stairs. I climbed them taking two and three at a time. In a moment I arrived on the landing of the first floor a bit winded but no less eager to rescue the lady from this den of wickedness. I had taken only two steps down the hall when a door before me opened and a burly man rushed out. He was evidently as surprised as I for he stopped dead in his tracks. We recovered at the same time however and as I reached for my revolver he lunged at me drawing a long bladed stiletto. I found myself on the defensive at once. He slashed at me and I felt the hot tip of the knife on my forearm, which caused me to drop my revolver. I fought back with a punch to his jaw that rocked him but he was on me again before I could stoop and retrieve the gun. He was younger than I and more familiar with this sort of fighting so soon I found myself rolling on the floor with him. His left arm wrapped around my throat and his right with the knife was bearing down on my eye. I managed to hold off the knife hand with both of my own but the strangle hold would soon overcome me. I knew that it was a matter of seconds before the struggle would be decided and my life would end but I could not give up. For Miss Worth and to a lesser extent for my old friend Holmes I fought on. Through my mind ran foolishness. I regretted not having attended at least some of the Bartitsu classes that Holmes had recommended so highly. I wondered how deep the wound on my arm was. I had a flash of memory to the wound that Captain Barbossa had inflicted upon the man at St. James Church and hoped that this man had been as skilful in missing any vital blood vessel. Then I felt my old shoulder wound throb and the muscles there began to protest under the strain. They had never healed properly.

That was when inspiration blazed in my mind. I was not a wrestler nor a common street brawler. A little boxing and rugby in my youth and a few fights along side Holmes in more recent years were all that I could claim as combat experience of this kind. But I was a fully accredited surgeon with a complete knowledge of human anatomy. Maintaining my hold with my left hand I released my right hand grip upon the weapon arm pressing towards me and moved my hand to my attacker's upper arm. I clamped down with all the strength of my right hand putting as much pressure upon the brachial artery as I could summon. I was rewarded with a grunt of surprise from my assailant. He began to ratchet his arm tighter about my throat but I could already feel the strength of his knife arm lessen. In a moment, with a lack of blood to his extremity, I was able to push the knife away and got a bit of leverage. I calculated that his face was just off to the right of my head and with all the strength I could muster I rocked forward. Naturally he strove to pull me back and regain his advantage. This was all to my good, however, for when he drew back I reversed myself and drove the back of my skull into his face. His knife dropped and he let loose of me. I scrambled to my feet to face him and when he rose I caught him full on with as solid a punch as ever I have thrown. With a bleeding nose the man staggered back. I gave him no time to recover though. I struck him again and at that he toppled over the banister rail and plummeted to the marble tiles of the ground floor. I spared him not a glance for I did not know in what condition I should find Miss Worth.

I staggered to the door from which the man had come and pushed it open. There I found the young lady tied to a chair. She turned wide, fearful eyes upon me but instantly her fear drained away to be replaced by hope. I was a moment getting the ropes off her but soon she was free and threw her delicate arms about my neck in token of thanks. Knowing time was not our ally just then I reassured her and quickly lead her to the head of the stairs. On the way I retrieved my revolver and down we went. She shuddered upon sight of the man crumpled near the foot of the stairs and turned her face from him. Quick as we could manage I bustled Miss Worth out of the front door and into the waiting arms of her fiancée.

I was forced to cut short their words of thanks for I had not seen Holmes and wished urgently to locate him.

"He told me to wait here and that you would be along with Abigail," Mr. Hawkins said. "He, Smitty and Mr. Biggs sprinted off towards the stables just a moment ago."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter XV**

**Fox Hunt**

Here I must relate details that I did not actually witness but were given me after the fact.

Holmes and Sparrow closed in on Smets who had sprawled across the drawing room floor. Seeing his predicament and certainly understanding that the game was up Smets scrambled to his feet and bolted across to a panel near the fireplace. A latch concealed there opened the panel onto a low tunnel and in he went closing the panel behind him. Holmes and Sparrow wasted little time trying to locate the latch for it was well hid and they knew he would try for an escape across country.

"Quickly, man!" Holmes cried turning for the door. "To the stables!"

Sparrow was hot on his heels as they pelted down the short hall and out of the front door. Holmes gave his brief instructions to Mr. Hawkins and collected Mr. Gibbs with a gesture. The three men ran for the stable yard where the other pirates were still engaged against the Carbonari. Holmes and Gibbs balked at the gunfire but Sparrow moved into it with a seeming lack of concern. Bullets smacked into stone near him. Brawling pairs tumbled about him but he strode through the melee untouched. Holmes and Gibbs followed in his wake and they must have been living charmed lives for no bullet found them and no tough accosted them. Just as they entered the main doors to the stable they caught sight of Smets as he rode out through a side door. Quickly they took horses and soon had them saddled. By that time Captain Barbossa had joined them. Once mounted the four were off.

At some distance they could see Smets cantering through the moonlit fields unaware of their pursuit. Barbossa pulled ahead and levelled his pistol. It is a difficult thing to fire a steady shot from a galloping horse and there is no doubt at all that most of Barbossa's shots were wide of his mark. But the great advantage of the new magazine fed pistol is its rapidity of fire. One need not cock back its hammer but merely pull the trigger. Barbossa laid in a fusillade of which at least one bullet struck the fleeing horse for they saw the animal jerk in its stride and nearly topple the rider. Holmes and the pirates steadily gained upon their quarry as they sped across the fields.

Smets had the advantage of them not only in the lead he had gained but in his intimate knowledge of the fields. Even with his horse wounded they soon lost sight of the man. He had dodged into a clump of trees and disappeared into the shadows beneath their bows. Coming to the border of this little wood Holmes drew to a halt with the pirates coming along side of him. They strained their eyes peering into the dense shadows but no sign could they see.

"Listen," Holmes whispered to them. "His horse is that way. Not very far."

"Go carefully, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Gibbs warned. "He be armed, I reckon."

They moved into the dark under the trees cautiously with weapons drawn. After a brief interval they found the horse with its head hanging low and weak from loss of blood. As they neared the poor animal collapsed and soon expired. One of Barbossa's rounds had struck home in a vital spot. Seeing that their quarry was now afoot, Holmes and the pirates dismounted and lead their horses through the shadowed wood with their ears keen for any sound that might betray the presence of the man they hunted.

"He'll be makin' fer his boat," Barbossa said in a low voice.

"Then he won't get far, Cap'n," said Mr. Gibbs.

"Wait, gentlemen," said Holmes. "Smets is a resourceful man."

"Aye," said Sparrow. "And ruthless."

"Then would he actually make for his boat?" Holmes queried.

The pirates paused in their hunt to look at Holmes. Captain Barbossa fixed him with a gimlet stare.

"What is it yer gettin' at, Mr. Holmes?" asked Barbossa.

"Put yourself in his shoes, Captain," replied Holmes. "The man has just seen his stronghold assaulted by your crew. He was even struck in the face by you, Captain Sparrow. He must realise that the men sent to despatch you have been dealt with in some fashion. Wherever they are, they are not at his boat. Therefore, he must understand that his boat is no refuge. What would you do in such a situation?"

"Go to ground," Barbossa nodded his agreement.

"Mr. Gibbs," Sparrow asked his bosun. "Where is the nearest farm?"

"'Bout half a mile towards the inn, sir," said Mr. Gibbs.

As one they remounted their horses and rode out towards the farm. They broke from the wood into the fields again and to their satisfaction they spotted a dark figure moving at a run towards another copse of trees. They spurred their mounts into a gallop hoping to overtake him before he could dodge into cover again. How ironic that Smets had hunted fox upon these rolling downs only to be hunted much the same way. Like a fox Smets was sly and cunning. Before they could cut him off or even close the distance much he had dodged into the trees again. They reined in once more. Leaving Mr. Gibbs with the horses Holmes, Sparrow and Barbossa dismounted and crept into the woods. They moved as silently as possible through the undergrowth again listening for any telltale sound. Barbossa made a signal for the party to halt and using gestures communicated that they should spread out to cover more ground. Believing that any of them was at least a match for Smets, Holmes complied and moved off to the right. They continued their search for several minutes. Holmes was able to keep track of the other two from the slight noises they made. Suddenly there came a shout of warning and a shot. Fearing for his companions Holmes turned towards the sound of the shot and had taken a few steps when the Belgian flew at him through the trees. It was not by design that Smets ran into Holmes. Rather it was in his desperation to flee from the pirates. Both men were flung to ground in the collision and Holmes lost his revolver. Smets was first to his feet but Holmes latched onto his ankle and threw him down again. Kicking and clawing like a fiend Smets tried to break free from Holmes's grasp. It was to no avail. Holmes struck and grappled with the man and kept him on the ground. Smets beat at Holmes and struggled out of his grip only to be tripped and punched for his effort. When the pirate captains came upon them Holmes had thrown Smets into an arm lock that was likely to dislocate the man's shoulder joint if the fight continued. Seeing there was no escape from the three of them, Smets relented.

"Nice work, Mr. Holmes," Sparrow said laying hands on Smets and dragging him to his feet.

"An excellent catch, sir," Barbossa complimented my friend as he gave him a hand up.

"Now for it, I think," said Sparrow turning the man about and tying his hands. "Let us take this pestilent, yeasty codpiece to where he'll trouble us no more."

"Gentlemen," said Holmes between panting breaths. "I really must protest. We must turn him over to the proper authorities."

"We've already been through this, Mr. Holmes," Barbossa admonished. "Smets is far too dangerous."

"I am not convinced of that, sir," Holmes insisted. "We should arrest him and remand him into the custody of Scotland Yard or perhaps even the Home Office."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr. Holmes," said a cool feminine voice from the shadows.

Irene Adler strode from the surrounding trees with a pistol in her hand. Smets's eyes formerly down cast now flared with hope.

"Well done, my dear!" the Belgian said and shrugged out of Sparrow's grip. "Get these ropes off me and let's get out of here."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening either, my dear," Adler's voice held a heavy note of scorn mingled with contempt. "Do you remember a lawyer named Norton, Guillaume? He practiced in Ontario."

"Norton?" Smets asked bewildered. "The lawyer who was in charge of investigating my affairs?"

"He got close to the truth," Miss Adler said bitterly. "Too close for your comfort."

"He was meddling in things he had no right to," Smets spit back.

"It was his duty," Miss Adler said with pride. "And this is mine."

With the last word she pulled the trigger and the pistol barked once. Smets was struck in the heart and fell at her feet. All went quiet. For a long moment the four of them stood looking down upon the lifeless form in the dirt. Sparrow stepped to Miss Adler and took the weapon from her hand. Barbossa rolled the lifeless man onto his back and rifled his pockets. He drew from an inner fold of Smets's waistcoat the clasp knife taken from the Benbow Inn. They returned to where Mr. Gibbs held the horses and rode back to the manor where the pirates under Captain Tai Huang had finally eliminated the remaining Carbonari.

It was a subdued group that rode to the gates of the stable yard. I met them ready to render any medical aid but fortunately my services were not needed. Holmes said nothing at that time of what had happened in the woods. We were all very busy in our need to escape before the local constabulary should arrive.

It was the next day when, sitting in Mr. Hawkins's study, Holmes told me the tale of their pursuit of Smets and the dramatic ending. We heard over lunch that Scotland Yard had been called in to investigate the brutal attack at the estate. Our old friend Gregson was the investigator in charge. Holmes recommended to him that he concentrate on the Carbonari and further advised that it was likely a matter internal to that organisation. He explained to Gregson how Smets had fallen out of favour with his superiors nearly a year prior and this was perhaps their way of tying up loose ends.

In the afternoon we received an invitation to attend a party at Trelawney House. Reluctantly we agreed to go. Holmes would have declined but Miss Worth wheedled until he finally gave in with a smile in spite of himself.

The party was held in the gardens behind the old manor and I must say that it was quite magnificent. Captain Sparrow had spared no expense. With his French doors restored to their former grandeur and the flowers in bloom there seemed nothing wanting. He had hired a troupe of Gypsies to entertain with juggling and music and the meal had been prepared by the good Miss Charlotte Hughes of the Benbow quite recovered from her distress. He had invited not only us but all of his men who had been along on the raid. To our surprise Mr. Cotton was there and it was only then that we learned that he too had been among Sparrow's crew all those years ago. We spent a boisterous evening of dancing and cocktails with exhibitions of shooting, tests of skill with thrown knives and an improbable contest of rope climbing which, to my amazement, Holmes joined in on.

After night had spread its curtain and the garden was lit by torches I strolled among the flower beds with Miss Tia Dalma upon my arm. We found Captain Sparrow leaning against a tree with a very pleased smile glinting gold. We spoke politely about nothing for a few minutes until I finally had to ask a question of some little importance to me.

"Why did you do all of this, Captain?" I asked.

"Had to stop Smets, Doctor," he replied nonchalantly.

"That's not what I mean," I said. "Why defend the Chest? Why fight so hard to keep the pieces of eight safe? Captain Barbossa said that the Brethren Court was extinct save for you three captains. So why do all of this?"

Sparrow was silent for a time and I thought he would not answer when finally his smile returned. He said, "Me father told me once, Doctor, that it's not livin' forever that matters. It's livin' with yerself forever."

"Vita Vacuus Voluntas est Non Vita," I said.

"Just so," Sparrow stood and clapped me on the shoulder and went to dance with one of the Gypsy girls.

"Der were t'ree hundr'd o' dem when dis all began, Doctor," Tia Dalma said watching him go. "Now der are fewer."

"So they are not truly immortal?" I asked.

"So long as life is in dem dey live," she said. "Der is much life in Jack."

"One day even he will run out," I said.

"Perhaps," was her reply.

"Who will guard the chest then?" I asked.

"From time to time dey take new memba's into de fam'ly." She squeezed my arm and smiled. "Der is Syn, Dontess, Crockett, Blankney. Why not Watson or Holmes?"

It was my turn to be silent a moment. But I shook my head.

"No," I said. "Mary is waiting. I do not wish to be as Captain Barbossa. And I doubt Holmes would wish to either. One lifetime is enough."

Tia Dalma smiled sweetly and there was just a hint of disappointment in it. She leaned in and kissed me upon the cheek then drew me to the dance floor.

The next day Sherlock Holmes and myself were summoned to Trelawney House and were required to take an oath never to reveal what we had witnessed. Sitting astride the barrel of the little ship's gun with a Bible in one hand and a human skull in the other we did so upon pain of death. We never saw Captain Barbossa again after that.

Holmes and I returned to Black Hill Cove a month latter to attend the wedding of Mr. James Alexander Hawkins and Miss Abigail Worth. It was a small affair compared to what one might have expected for a man of Hawkins's position. The ceremony was presided over by Parson MacKenzie with Captain Sparrow as the best man. They raised five children: Jack, John, Sherlock, Hector and Tia.

The murder at St. James Church was never solved though the burglary was resolved to the satisfaction of the Yard.

Inspector Phineas Morgan retired a year after these events and sadly passed away quietly during a fishing trip in Ireland two months later.

I have not visited Holmes in several months. He has, of course, his bees and his chemical experiments to occupy him. Though, of late I believe he has done less of either. My last visit he seemed somewhat distracted. Very unlike himself. He grew vaguely agitated when I inquired about his beard. Perhaps I should not have said that it made him look older. He has also taken to walking with a cane for support though he seems to set it aside in his own home and stride about quite as ever he did, at least he did so when he thought I was not watching.

I wonder about my old friend more now that my days are dragging. I have long been retired and have more time on my hands than I know what to do with. I worry about him and I can not sleep. I have nightmares and I wake grasping my heart and I wonder if that other heart is safe. I feel that I shall see Mary again before too much longer. I wonder what Holmes shall do when I have gone. There was Syn, Dontess, Crockett and Blankney. Perhaps there will be Holmes. There was certainly Adler.

* * *

**A.N.** For those of you who are wondering and perhaps do not recognize the names of the more recent additions to the pirate's family of immortals I include this list.

Syn: Doctor Syn or The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh was created by Russell Thorndike.

Dontess: Edmond Dontess who became the Count of Monte Cristo was created by Alexandre Dumas.

Crockett: Colonel and later Congressman and a true to life folk hero in his own time and legend there after David Crockett of Tennessee, USA who died among other heroes at the Battle of the Alamo in Texas. I am taking a bit of a liberty with this gentleman but I feel that it is not so much of one. You see, there was a letter that he supposedly sent to his family several months after the battle and his death. It claimed that he was hunting and that he was quite well and would see them soon. In the reality of this story Crockett fought the battle after meeting Hector Barbossa.

Blankney: Sir Percy Blankney or The Scarlet Pimpernel was created by Baroness Emmuske Orczy.

I wish to thank you all for reading this tale of mine. It was great fun doing the research and working out the plot. I hope you all enjoyed the story as much as I did. I also wish to thank all of you who reviewed. Aside from the pleasure of writing these stories reviews are really the only reward we fan authors get. I feel that I have been more than justly reward by you all.

Stutley Constable


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